


The People He Touched

by alwaysinmyheartlarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Harry is very mysterious, Hurt/Comfort, Louis likes to paint Harry a lot, M/M, Mentioned Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Neglect, Painter!Louis, Past Relationship(s), Self-Esteem, oh and Harry also works at a primary school because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysinmyheartlarry/pseuds/alwaysinmyheartlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were both giggling now, their faces turning red with the lack of oxygen and little air in between their gasps of breath.  Louis didn’t know what they were truly laughing about, but at that moment, he let it pass and allowed himself to laugh freely and loudly with the beautiful boy in his lap.  It was a picturesque moment—one that Louis most definitely wanted to capture in his next painting.</p><p> </p><p>or an au where louis loves painting, but hates the silence and harry giggles at seemingly nothing all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The People He Touched

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii! I just want to say a huge ‘thank you’ in advance for reading! This took me so long to write and I’m super happy with the way it turned out. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also, pretty pretty please make sure to read the tags. This story will get very angsty and it can be triggering for some. I THINK i tagged all the major things but if you see anything, please let me know :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)))

The boy was a piece of artwork. It’s the only way to describe him. He was the bright hues and small shapes. He was the paint strokes, the blank space and the contrasting colors. He was the perfect picture at first glance but intricate details and odd figures at best. It’s only with time that people realize His distorted shapes and odd lines, or the way the colours of His paint combine to form something new, as if each stroke of His brush was infecting the blank canvas with a strong, aesthetic poison. It’s only with analytical precision that people see the way His tough skin can be peeled back, like a paper mache project, until the only thing left was His blank canvas.

He was truly an indescribable human, yet he deserved such a better description.

\---  
Throughout his life, Louis had always been classified as the “loud one.” He was never one for dying in the spotlight or shying away from the drama. He enjoyed being the center of attention. He liked the feeling of being wanted and adorned by many. He liked being around people at parties and social events. In fact, the silence, in general, made him feel twitchy and uncomfortable.

That was why it wasn’t surprising that, within the few minutes that he arrived to the library on that rainy afternoon, he was kicked out for being too rowdy and obnoxious. Dragging his best friend Niall along with him was the possibly the worst decision Louis had ever made in his entire life.

He should’ve known, really. The two of them together were always rowdy, even from the beginning when they first sat next to each other in primary school all that time ago. They were partners in crime since then—gluing feathers on each other’s skin in first grade, mooning their friends in third, drawing dicks on the bathroom walls in sixth—honestly, what was Louis expecting when he forced Niall to go with him to the library?

And even though he should’ve expected that they’d have a lot of trouble with the whole ‘being quiet’ concept, he surely hadn’t expected that he would ever do something bad enough to be kicked out of a library. Yet there they were, sitting in front of the librarian who’s pointing angrily at the exit sign.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered for both him and Niall, not knowing what else to say or do. He scowled at his best friend who continued to laugh and sputter over the joke he just told, making a right fool of himself in front of everyone. Louis wished he was close enough to slap Niall across the face. Didn’t he understand that Louis needed to stay here and study?

The librarian continued to point at the door with a fixed expression, too annoyed with the boys to even muster a word. Louis could visibly see the smoke coming out of her ears, like in the cartoons, and he chuckled very briefly at the mere image before reminding himself that he was getting kicked out of a library—and honestly, who gets kicked out of a library?

He lowered his head in shame, leading the way to the front door with Niall in tow without saying another word.

“What a bitch,” Niall laughed as they stepped outside. “What do you say, Tommo? Grab some food and then head home?”

Louis glared at the boy, folding his hands across his chest as he stared at him in disbelief. “No, you dick, I’m going back in there because I need to find my art project idea, and—”

“Mate, you just got kicked out.”

“No, you got us kicked out.”

“Hey, pointing fingers isn’t solving anything,” Niall shrugged. “Besides, we have internet for a reason.”

“Yeah, except you forgot one thing, Niall. Our internet is down and you’re too lazy to fix it, so I’m going back in.”

“Alright, alright,” Niall said, taking a step toward his car. “I’m going home. I’ll see you later.”

Louis made his way to the side entrance—very far away from the librarian—and sat down at a secluded table in the corner. He tapped his foot underneath the table, finding the silence to be completely overwhelming and uncomfortable. It felt like it was grabbing hold of his neck in a tight grip, strangling him to death as if Silence had hands of its own. He almost wished that Niall were still here making inappropriate jokes again, but then he remembered that he had to finish—or, well start—his art project at some point, and today was the only day left.

He looked down at the art books lying on the table in front of him. It all seemed so pointless now. The paintings weren’t giving him any inspiration, nor motivation to do any of it. In fact, it was mostly discouraging him, if anything, because he knew he could never be as good as van Gogh.

He closed the book abruptly, watching the dust fly off the cover and flitter into the air. He sat there frozen, drowning himself in self pity before he heard footsteps nearing him. He turned in his seat, seeing the librarian walking closer to him, and without grace or elegance, he fell to his knees, silently crawling away, not wanting to get in trouble for the second time in one day.

He hurriedly scampered across the floor, wincing as the rug burned his skin while simultaneously twisting his neck to see if the librarian spotted him. She was putting Louis’ books away that he left on the table, not at all suspicious or aware of his whereabouts.

He smirked to himself, feeling much too proud for sneaking past an old lady that had surely lost her hearing over the years. Nevertheless, he couldn’t suppress the odd feeling of accomplishment in his stomach.

He knew karma was a bitch, and he knew that it would kick his ass sometime in the near future for getting kicked out of a library, but he never expected it to work so quickly—because just as he looked back one last time at the librarian, he ran straight into a bookshelf, knocking down an entire rack of hardcover books. They clambered to the floor noisily, multiple novels hitting Louis over the head and making him groan in pain.

A little giggle erupted from behind him, and Louis instantly turned around to glare at whoever was laughing at him. But when his eyes landed on the face that belonged to the little giggle, his glare was instantly replaced with something soft.

The person peered over the top of a journal, his green eyes crinkling, leaving little wrinkles on his skin underneath. The notebook he held covered his mouth and hid most of his face, but even still, Louis could tell that the boy had a beautiful smile. He could sense it from the way the boy’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly to reveal his surprised, yet admittedly, humoured expression.  
“Are you alright?” he giggled, lowering the notebook in his hands to his lap. His lips were full and red, leaving a distinct contrast between the pristine white of his teeth and the rosy color of his skin. His smile was broad on his face, the left side pulling slightly higher than the right, and just the mere sight of his grin made Louis smile, too.

The older boy, still sitting on the ground with the dozens of books surrounding him, mustered a simple nod and a small ‘yeah.’ 

The boy’s smile grew larger, and Louis wondered how that was even possible. Even still, it was easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I just…uh…dropped a few books.”

The boy laughed again, his smile blooming across his face. And yeah, it really was the most beautiful thing Louis had ever seen.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” he whispered, his voice still carrying a hint of humor.

“You should be. Here I thought you were some kind of nice lad that was going to help me clean up all these books, yet all you do is laugh at me!” He threw his hands up in utter disbelief, knowing he looks absolutely ridiculous, but not caring when he heard the boy laugh yet again.

The boy set his black and white journal down beside him, his green eyes wide open with a shining glint in the middle. He was looking at Louis with curiosity and amusement, a grin threatening to split his entire face in half. Louis wanted to keep that image in his mind forever.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” the boy laughed under his breath.

“Me? Dramatic?” Louis asked, raising his eyebrows. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to even say that!” He picked up a book lying beside him and held it out for the cute boy sitting much too far away. “Now, come on, Curly, don’t just sit there! Help me put these books on the shelves before I’m kicked out again.”

The boy stood up from his chair, laughing as he walked closer to Louis, though his laughter was the last thing on Louis’ mind. His thoughts drifted to the incredibly, long legs the boy had, his black skinny jeans clinging to every curve. They were lean and perfect in every way possible, and Louis couldn’t help but stare at the boy, his eyes trailing slowly upward and noticing every crevice on his body until he reached his eyes again—the beautiful, green eyes. They were looking back at Louis with a soft gaze, smiling at him as he sat beside him.

“Again?” the boy asked, raising his eyebrows as he picked up a book by his side and giggled quietly. “How can you get kicked out of a library more than once?”

“Well apparently old ladies don’t like inappropriate jokes too much…or noise, for that matter.”

The boy giggled loudly, his laughter bouncing around the room before he quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide and embarrassed as he stared at Louis.

“It’s okay,” Louis reassured him. “Apparently she’s deaf.”

The boy nodded his head in agreement, tucking his hair behind one ear. “I’d say,” he whispers, delicately putting a book back on the shelf. “I don’t know how she didn’t hear you knock over a million books to the floor.”

“Now who’s being dramatic? A million books, really?” Louis teased the boy, smiling instantly when the boy laughed again—a little quieter this time—rolling his eyes with a little shake of his head and playfully tugging the books out of Louis’ hands and rearranging them so they’re in the correct order.

Louis watched him, feeling a surge of happiness float through his bones as he noticed the dimples that indented his cheeks. He wanted to poke it, make the boy laugh again—it was an adorable sound—and have an excuse to feel his skin.

But before he could make his move, there was a loud cough behind him.

He turned around to glare at the person, ready to make a snippy comment about being in a library, saying something along the lines of ‘shh! Have you no courtesy to the fellow students? This is a library for God’s sake!’ but as soon as he turned around, he was greeted by the big framed librarian who had a deep scowl on her face.

He grinned sheepishly, awkwardly holding his hand up in a frantic wave, and dropping it back to his side when she lowered her eyebrows in anger.

“Hi,” he said quietly, shuffling around on the ground. “I was just studying my notes for my…erm my law class because…you know…I’m a very scholarly person and all.”

“Mhm,” she said, glaring at him.

“And this bright, young fellow here,” he gestured to the boy on the ground, “just so happened to ask me for help. He’s looking for a specific book, you see, and I decided—hey! Why not help a lad out, yeah? So we were just in the middle of finding him the book he wanted on…on reptiles.”

“But of course,” she said, not at all believing his lie. She pointed at the entrance, glaring at him until he moved.

“Sorry Rodrigo,” Louis said, standing up and looking down at the gorgeous boy on the floor, “it looks like I won’t be able to help you find what you were looking for. It’s a shame, really. It sounded like a lovely book.”

The curly haired boy bit his lip, obviously trying to contain his giggles inside his mouth, and Louis wished that he wouldn’t do that—he wanted to hear his laughter bounce around the silent room once more.

“Good day, madam,” he said, bowing his head once and walking towards the entrance. He hurriedly rushed out the door, though not before snapping a mental picture of the boy with the gorgeous smile and beautiful laugh.

\---

That night, Louis had finally found his inspiration for his art project.

He delicately finished the last stroke across the blank canvas before examining it thoroughly. Something about it was still off.

Just like his other twenty million attempts.

He huffed, ripping it off the stand, and chucking it to the ground along with the other countless failed attempts. They gathered around his feet, swallowing his ankles like a halo, and despite the fact that each painting looked exactly as he had envisioned it, he still felt as if there was something missing.

He stared intently at the long, chestnut locks, admiring the way they curled over the boy’s journal that he held up to his mouth in order to hide a smile. His eyebrows were raised in what could only be assumed as utter joy and humor, and his cheeks, though mostly obscured by his notebook, carried an innocent blush that bloomed over the apple of his cheeks.

The problem, Louis soon discovered, was not within the hair, nor the eyebrows—no, something was wrong with the eyes. They were painted with a glint of happiness, a shine in the pupil, and crinkles on his skin. They were beautiful—the exact picture Louis had seen just a few hours ago. But no matter how many colours he mixed to find the perfect shade of emerald, and no matter how many times he had repainted and started over, there was always something a little off with those green eyes—something so painfully and frustratingly microscopic.

“Mate, you’ve been painting for the past three hours,” Liam said as he opened the door to Louis’ bedroom. “Why don’t you come out and join us for dinner?” His eyes trailed around the room, taking in the disheveled mess on the floor, and the multitude of the same exact painting thrown carelessly around Louis’ feet. He cleared his throat rather obnoxiously in an attempt to cover his shocked reaction before chuckling. “I think you may have a little obsession, mate.”

“It is not an obsession, Liam. This is art.”

“Are you sure, Lou? I mean, it’s the exact same boy in the exact same position. Aren’t you getting tired of painting the exact same thing over and over again?”

“Hm, interesting that you say that, Liam, because if I recall correctly, you and Zayn seem to fuck around quite a bit in the exact same position almost every night. And it doesn’t seem like you guys are getting bored anytime soon.”

Liam’s mouth hung open at the response, his cheeks flushed and rosy before he turned on his heel to walk out of the room. “You’re a dick,” he called over his shoulder. “Come eat dinner with us!”

Louis chuckled, turning back to his easel to work on the eyes some more. They were mocking him, laughing loudly at Louis’ disappointing attempts to capture the beautiful glimmer and innocent mask that the boy carried in his eyes. Louis stared at it for a long time, as if it could somehow render an answer to his inevitable problem.

He had taken painting lessons when he was a child, following the instructor’s guidance for nearly four years before branching out and doing his own things with the help of the hints and tips he had acquired. He had painted people before—family portraits, his friends, even models, who were known to have the prettiest eyes—yet, even those eyes weren’t as hard to paint as the boy’s at the library.

Seeing the same mistake once again, Louis ripped the paper off the stand, and with an intense glare, crumpled it in his hands and tossed it with the other discarded mistakes before starting, yet again, on the new painting that, surely, will be perfect this time.

It didn’t take long before Louis was stuck looking at the sinful eyes again. He groaned loudly, letting his head fall back against his chair.

“Louis, mate, I don’t understand why you keep starting over,” Niall said, walking into his room and stopping to pick up one of the paintings in his hands. “It looks great.”

Louis huffed, turning his face away from the painting Niall had in his hands. “The eyes, Niall, look at the eyes.”

“Well, what’s wrong with ‘em? They look realistic to me.”

“They’re wrong.”

Niall frowned, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at the pair of green eyes. “They look fine to me. I think you’re being too analytical.”

Louis shook his head, wishing that he had a friend who was also an artist so that he could receive correct feedback. “They’re wrong.”

“Who is he anyway?” Liam asked, ignoring his complaint.

Louis just shrugged his shoulders, refusing to tell him about the person who captured his attention. “Just a boy I saw at the library.”

 

\---

Little did Louis know that the boy he saw at the library was also a mysterious boy at the library. A week had passed since Louis last saw him and he even gone back to the secluded corner in the library several times in one day, but to his utter dismay, the curly haired boy was never there. Louis almost felt like the whole exchange was a fragment of his imagination. Sometimes he felt like he could see him sitting there with the journal on his lap, laughing at Louis as he scrambled on the ground trying to flirt with him, but it only lasted mere seconds before it vanished. And similar to this brief optical illusion, Louis never stayed long in the library. He still hated the silence it held, and the librarian would watch him with venom-laced eyes.

He knew when he wasn’t welcomed.

He walked into his art classroom that day, carrying his canvas in his hands. After his friends had finally convinced him that the boy’s eyes were, indeed, not missing anything, he finally transferred his last and final piece to the canvas.

He hadn’t changed anything about the picture—the young boy was still sitting on a chair with his kneels pulled up to his chest, and holding his prized black and white journal up to his mouth to hide his grin. His hair still curled around his face, and his cheeks were still rosy and innocent, and, of course, his eyes still carried that fleeing fault that Louis still couldn’t seem to place. But for the moment, he dislodged that unfulfilled feeling in his stomach, and pushed it aside.

“Oh, Louis!” Ms. Moffet exclaimed as soon as she held Louis’ painting in her hands. She pushed her hot pink glasses up the bridge of her nose, astonished with Louis’ work. “This is breathtaking—absolutely breathtaking.”

Louis preened under her compliments, watching the way her eyes danced around the entirety of his painting as they should. He felt satisfied with his work, proud that the dauntless task of starting over again and again had finally paid off.

“Thank you, Ms. Moffet.”

“It’s a shame that your art skills are only limited to this class, Louis. You could easily make it big out there.”

Louis scoffed bashfully at her comment, lowering his head as the blush creeped onto his cheeks. “I don’t know about that. It’s a tough world out there as an artist, and I’m not so sure that I’d like to be dependent on other’s opinions.”

“Still,” she said, lifting his chin up. She smiled softly. “I really think you should spread your artistic talent with the world, Louis. Maybe not as a full-time artist, but even something as simple as teaching a painting class could benefit you.” Louis shrugged his shoulders, unconvinced with her advice. “Plus,” she added in a whisper, “you could get paid for doing something you love.”

Louis’ ears perked instantly. He was a student with very little income, so naturally, money would always catch his attention.

“That sounds nice.”

Ms. Moffet smirked, chuckling quietly as she gently placed his canvas on her desk with one last lingering glance at the masterpiece. “I’ll ask around.”

Louis thanked her with a kind smile, and sat down at his desk after gathering his art supplies to paint for the rest of the hour. He kept his headphones in his ears the entire time, allowing the music to move his hand with gentle strokes across the paper. It wasn’t until the end of class that he realized that he had painted a pair of green eyes and a red smile.

\---

The sun was trying to peek out from behind the dark clouds the afternoon of Louis’ first scheduled art lesson. He sat in the parking lot, waiting for all the small children to exit the school, and upon hearing their adorable squeals and contagious laughter, Louis smiled at his decision. Ms. Moffet had tried to alter his choice, rattling off the names of the adult people who were interested in taking a painting lesson from the lad, but Louis was set on painting with the afterschool day care children at the local primary school. The thought of combining his two favourite things together—painting and children—made Louis ecstatic.

He carried his art supplies in the crook of his arm, and, with a smile on his face, began walking toward the front entrance. As soon as he opened the door to the daycare room, every head turned to face him—most with curious looks, until they saw the paint and paper in his hands.

“Boys and girls,” Mrs. Davis said, “we have a special guest here today. His name is Mr. Tomlinson. Can we all say hello to Mr. Tomlinson?” Louis waved at the kids as they yelled out his name, smiling broadly at the sound. “He’s going to help us paint today! Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Another woman gently took some of the paints out of Louis’ hands, helping him set up his supplies as the kids all went to wash their hands. They made small talk centered around Louis’ passion for art, and it didn’t take long before his legs were soon attacked with dozens of little hands.

“Hi, Mr. Tomlinson!” They all cheered.

He laughed, trying to pry their hands off his legs so he could go stand at the front of the table. “You can call me Louis,” he said, lifting one of his cheap brushes off the table. He knew, from past experience with his younger sisters, that little kids like to paint with no real intention other than making an absolute mess on the paper with as much force on the brush as they can muster. That was the reason for his trip to the local store to grab a lot of cheap brushes and lot of cheap paints. “Are you all excited to paint today?” He asked.

The young children all cheered at once, and when it finally settled down, Louis began his first art lesson. There was only one little girl that sat beside Louis that followed the exact same steps as he showed—the rest of them all seemed to ignore him, dragging random paints across the white paper until it was an ugly brown colour. Normally, the fact that the kids were blatantly ignoring Louis, would annoy him, but today, he found it precious and adorable. Each person had their own unique painting, and that alone intrigued Louis—how they could all start with an open, blank sheet and end up with something completely different, even though they used all the same three, primary colours.

Seeing that the children weren’t listening to him, he put his brush down and walked around the table, chatting with each child and learning their names. He loved listening to their stories—it reminded him of the stories his little sisters would tell him, bringing a sense of nostalgia to his day. Of course, most of them hadn’t made much sense, but it was the child’s undeniable freedom that made it so interesting for Louis. It was the fact that the children never seemed to care what the other people thought—instead saying exactly what was on their mind without any filters, nor hesitance. It made Louis wonder where that sense of freedom went when the child enters their teenage years.

“Harry!” They all yelled at once, and suddenly, Louis’ entire table of munchkins vanished, along with his thoughts.

Louis watched on humorously as they all ran forcefully toward the so-called ‘Harry.’ They practically knocked over the poor lad with their aggressive ambush, and it seemed as though the man was struggling to keep upright. Louis stood up then, ready to help him, but when he caught sight of the face that belonged to the name, Louis’ breath instantly faltered and he froze in his stature—a posture that was somewhere in between an awkward squat and a sitting position. He probably should have felt the burning sensation of his leg muscles from staying in that position for so long, but at the time, the only thing he could feel was the burning of his skin as he stared at the boy across the room.

He looked away and back again several times just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, and fortunately for him, each time he glanced over, the boy with the beautiful smile and emerald eyes was still standing in front of him. He watched, turning his attention to only the boy—Harry—who laughed loudly at the children, trying to walk and talk and play all at the same time. His smile was even broader than the library, and his dimples were even deeper than before, and his laugh was just so loud that it put Niall to shame. Louis was completely smitten over the boy.

“Harry! We have a guest who’s teaching us how to paint!” One of the children said excitedly, though Louis wasn’t sure who it was because his focus on Harry hadn’t faltered any. “Will you come paint with us, Harry, please?”

Louis, still in his nearly sitting yet still standing position, instantly felt his cheeks redden as Harry turned his attention to his table. It was only their second time meeting, and Louis undeniably made a fool of himself in front of the boy once again. He was in the most awkward position, looking like he was squatting over a toilet and he couldn’t imagine how unattractive he must’ve looked at that moment. He considered himself lucky that he finally managed to demand his muscles to stand upright and offer a little smile in his direction—a seemingly cool bad boy smile, according to Louis, though it looked much too enthusiastic to be considered something even remotely cool.

It was obvious that Harry recognised Louis—his eyebrows shot up immediately and he smiled even larger upon seeing him, if that was possible. It hadn’t made Louis feel any less anxious upon seeing him—he was still a nervous wreck. The older lad struggled with acting normal, only gathering enough courage to offer a simple, yet very awkward, little wave in his direction. He nearly hit himself in the head when he waved, just barely missing his eye by a mere millimeter which had consequently made him flinch from the proximity. Harry laughed once more before turning back to the child in front of him.

“I wish I could, bud,” Harry said loudly, leaning down to speak to the little boy, “but there are a lot of people here who need help with their homework first.”  
The boy pouted, only to smile once again when Harry ruffled his hair and patted his back. Louis’ heart melted at Harry’s simple gesture. Not only was he pretty, but he was also good with kids.

For the rest of the day, he shared several glances with Harry. He looked at him often, finding himself in awe when a little girl with blonde pigtails in her hair fallen asleep on his shoulder, and although Louis couldn’t hear Harry clearly, he knew that he was singing a soft lullaby in her ear as he gently rocked her back and forth. He swooned over the sight as he haphazardly stuffed his paints and papers back in his bag, not too concerned if they accidentally spill while sitting upside down.

There were only five minutes left before the daycare was supposedly closing, and the little girl on Harry’s shoulder was the only child that was still there. Louis finished his painting lesson an hour ago, but he had taken his time so that he could do a good job of cleaning up the table, and maybe stare at Harry a little more than necessary—the boy was just charming and delightful to watch with children, that was all.

Still, even after the little girl’s mother had finally arrived to pick her up, Louis found himself in a trance over Harry. There was something about him that had drawn Louis in—maybe it was his laugh and smile—but it seemed as though there was something stronger than that, like there was something more to the magnetic force.

Whatever it was, however, it made Louis beyond nervous, turning him into a jittery mess as he finally approached the curly haired boy with some hesitance and strong determination at the end of the day.

He smiled at Harry, who, in return, smiled even brighter back and laughed. “Well, look who it is!” he exclaimed. “The guy who’s probably the first ever to get kicked out of a library…twice.”

“Hey, that takes skill, Rodrigo.”

Harry laughed loudly, extending his hand out for Louis to take. “I’m Harry.”

“I don’t know,” Louis said skeptically, “I quite like Rodrigo better…or Curly.” He reached out to twirl a strand of his hair in his fingers. He knew it was a bold move, playing with his hair, but seeing Harry lean into his touch gave him a sense of satisfaction.

He looked at Harry, watching as the boy giggled and bit his lip to stop himself from smiling any larger, and apparently, it was a difficult task for him. His hand that was outstretched and waiting to shake with Louis’ fallen to his side, and Louis discreetly pinched his thigh as he realised that he missed his perfect opportunity to touch Harry’s skin.

“In that case,” Harry said, pressing his lips together to stop himself from laughing more, “should I call you Straighty?”

Louis couldn’t help the small chuckle that bubbled in his throat at Harry’s comment. He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head slightly, worrying about how Harry was going to respond to his confession, but not truly caring in the end. “The only thing that’s straight about me is my hair, babe.”

Harry laughed. He laughed loudly and adorably—the very sound of it made Louis brighten. He captured the way the boy brought his hand up to his mouth, trying to suppress the sound as his eyes widened in shock over how loud he had actually laughed. It was like the library scene all over again. The glint of happiness and humour was clear within his warming pupils that seemed to have grown ever so slightly. Louis knew that this image would be yet another great painting—and this time he would get everything perfect. There would be no doubt that something was missing.

“I’m Louis,” the older lad finally said after they both quieted down. They shook hands and Louis didn’t know that it was possible—to actually feel that spark when touching someone. He thought it was just another cliché, fairytale line, but, to his utter surprise, he certainly felt something when his hand came in contact with Harry’s. He felt the shivers and the warmth and the butterflies. He felt alive.

“So you paint?” Harry asked.

“Yes, I do, young chap. I began when I was a wee little thing—maybe even in the womb—I’m quite positive about that.”

Harry laughed, his cheeks turning red. “Yeah, you think so?”

“Oh, I know so. I probably painted all over my mum’s internal walls and organs and whatnot.”

Harry made a face, one that resembled a disgusted look, and Louis immediately felt his jaw drop and his cheeks warming significantly. What the fuck was he talking about? This was not a good conversation starter, nor will it ever be. He fumbled over his words, shaking his head frantically, and Harry just started laughing at him, making his already red cheeks turn even brighter.

“Well, to be politically correct, you wouldn’t have touched her internal organs, so I’m calling fibs on your story.”

Harry smirked at him, biting his lip when his smirk turned to into a dimpled smile. Louis simply rolled his eyes, walking toward the front door with his back facing Harry so he wouldn’t notice his undeniably red stained cheeks. Of course this would happen to him—making a fool of himself in front of the boy and blushing over it not even a second later.

“I really have been painting for quite some time, though. I think I started when I was five, give or take a few years.” He stopped to chuckle a little, reminiscing on old memories. “My mum used to get mad at me all the time because I used to give my mates a muddy face painting whenever it rained. We used to pretend we were part of a tribe, you see, and while one person was in charge of gathering feathers and leaves to put in our hair, I was in charge of the face paint, but it was more or less just me smearing mud on me and my best friends’ skin. And then me mum made me hose down outside in the nude when I was eleven and I was so embarrassed that I never did it again.”

Harry laughed again, which surprised Louis because it wasn’t even that funny. His statement was completely true, not at all a story that was made up or purposefully said to be funny. He really and truly did use mud to paint on his skin with Liam, and he really did have to shower outside in broad daylight. That was his childhood.

“It’s true!” he exclaimed, chuckling when he saw Harry’s smile once again.

“I never said it wasn’t!”

“But you laughed.”

Harry laughed again, stopping next to a car that was parked next to a tree outside. Louis hadn’t even noticed they walked outside, already getting ready to go back home. How had the time passed so fast? He wanted to talk to Harry more.

“Oh no,” Harry said, chuckling. “Are you turning into one of the little munchkins?”

“What are you going on about?”

“You know.”

“No, I really don’t. Please enlighten me,” Louis said, grinning brightly when Harry rolled his eyes.

“All those little kids think that if you laugh while stating something, it automatically means that you’re lying.”

“Well, if that’s the case then you are one, big, lying machine, Harry.”

Louis watched as Harry’s smile immediately dropped from his face, his features turning absolutely stoic as he looked at him with wide eyes. “Then I suppose I owe you the truth?”

Louis nodded his head, putting one hand against the roof of Harry’s car and trapping him. “You most certainly do.”

Harry gripped Louis’ collar, tugging him closer and leaning down to whisper in his ear. His breath was hot against Louis’ skin which made his arms prickle with goosebumps.

“I’m actually a highly known prostitute during the night.”

He pulled away, giving Louis a wicked smirk, yet still keeping his facials relaxed and neutral. Louis’ eyes widened, his fingers toying with his wallet in his pocket, wondering if it’d be weird to ask him for a favor right then and there.

“You—prosti—what?”

Harry nodded, leaning back against his car and sealing his lips together. “But, erm,” he said, breaking off to laugh, turning his head away from Louis.

“You’re laughing!” Louis said, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “Fuck! Are you lying? I can’t tell! Are you laughing because you’re lying about being a prostitute? Or is this some kind of reverse psychology thing where you want me to believe that you’re lying so you laugh and then you make me believe that you’re not actually a prostitute when you really are. Fuck, please answer me. If you’re doing that second thing I just said, than you better expect the unexpected, pal.”

Harry could only laugh harder, collapsing backward onto his car while he tried to catch his breath again.

“I’m not a prostitute, Louis,” he laughed. “How did you even believe that? I’m like the worst liar in the entire world.”

“Well then…” he said, pouting his lips out as he waited for Harry to stop laughing. “Why don’t you tell me what you really do then, huh?”

He smiled, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “I work part-time here. The children are amazing—they truly are. They’re so cute and adorable. They can make any person happy, you know?”

“So no time for that prostitution job then,” Louis muttered, raising his eyebrows mischievously at Harry, and enjoying the way he blushed and laughed harder.

“No time for it,” Harry said, snapping his fingers in fake disappointment.

“So do you work here every day, or…?”

Harry laughed again, his eyes glittering in the light. Louis would never get tired of hearing it. “Why? Are you going to show up here every day that I work and try and help ‘Rodrigo’ find a book again?”

“Maybe. You never know,” Louis said, leaning in closer and whispering in his ear. “Maybe I just want to spend more time with you.”

His heart fluttered when he saw Harry bite his lip nervously, lowering his gaze to his feet with a blush rising on his cheeks. He looked adorable, fumbling with his rings and smiling behind his bitten lip.

“I work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

\---

It was exactly a week since Louis’ last painting session and even though he wasn’t getting paid for this week’s painting lesson, he still insisted that he loved the children—and Harry—and that he didn’t mind volunteering his time to help the primary school children with art.

It was a load of shit—he didn’t have a doubt about it—but Mrs. Davis hadn’t seen his blunt lie like he had, and she even welcomed him back with open arms.

“Should I be worried?” Harry laughed as soon as he spotted Louis from across the room, “do I have a stalker on my hands?”

“Oh yes. I know everything about you, Harry. You should be very worried.”

He giggled behind his hands, biting his lip while looking down at the table and grinning. “Oh yeah?” he asked shyly. “What color underwear am I wearing then?”

“Pink with little rainbows and ice creams on them.”

Harry’s eyes widened comically, his jaw slacking the tiniest bit before he broke out in a loud laugh. “How did you know?” he teased, biting his lip.

Louis shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say? I’m your stalker.”

“I didn’t know stalkers could be so handsome,” Harry said quietly, his cheeks turning a little red as he looked up from underneath his eyelashes. Louis’ heart fluttered, knowing that his own cheeks were heating up at the compliment. He didn’t know how to respond at first—completely taken aback by his comment, and the bashful side of Harry certainly wasn’t helping him any.

“I—uh…handsome,” Louis let his head fall to his lap, trying to will away his inevitable blush and noticing the outline of his phone in his pocket. “Well, you know Harold, being a stalker and all, I could go to the directory and find your number there, but I think it’d be much less of a hassle if you’d just tell me it up front.”

Harry laughed, taking Louis’ phone from his hands and punching in his number along with a dorky photo for his contact ID. Louis watched him the whole time, admiring the boy in front of him and wondering how he could make Louis do all these silly things. Never in his life, had Louis thought he’d ever use a chat up line—he hated them with a burning passion, yet there he was, using a cheesy way to ask Harry for his number. What was the boy doing to him?

“I expect a text from you tonight,” Harry said, standing up when a little boy tugged on his sleeve.

“Demanding, are we?”

Harry laughed, quickly covering his mouth when he realised how loud it had sounded, and Louis could only smile adoringly at him.

“I have high expectations, sir.”

“Well, I’ll be happy to meet them.”

\---

The next few days passed slowly, Louis painting more and more portraits of Harry in his bedroom and Niall teasing him relentlessly for his multitude of paintings and his mild obsession with the boy who stole his heart. He found it increasingly difficult to ignore his idiotic comments, and after shoving Niall into a wall, he found himself alone with Ms. Moffet, settling into another round of green eyes and dimples.

“That boy seems special,” she said, dragging a chair over and turning it backwards. She rested her forearms on the backrest, looking at Louis expectantly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that,” she said, flipping through his stack of papers with the same boy on all of them. Louis scoffed, snatching the papers away from her and sharing a small glare in her direction with a rosy tint on his cheeks. She sighed, shaking her head back and forth as she watches Louis continue to paint mindlessly. “Obviously you don’t want to talk about him—and that’s fine—but I think you should really start painting something else. You know, maybe try a new style—experience something other than the realistic imagery, yeah?”

“Why would I do that? Realistic painting is what I’m best at, so shouldn’t I continue with it?”

“Of course, of course, Louis,” she said, gently placing her hand on his knee, trying to grab his attention. She waited until he raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’m not trying to discourage you from painting, I just want you to expand your horizon, you know? I think doing an abstract painting would be good for you.”

Louis groaned, setting his brush down on the easel and turning his body to face his teacher completely. “I get what you’re saying, Ms. Moffet, I do, really, but I honestly don’t think it’s going to help me in any way.”

“Please? Just try it. It’ll be fun and enjoyable, and you never know—you might end up really enjoying it.”

Louis shook his head. “I’m not going to like it, but I guess for your sake, I’ll try it.”

“Good,” she said, resting her head in her hands and looking at the painting in front of them. Louis almost wanted to hide his painting from her, feeling a little self conscious for painting yet another portrait of Harry, especially since he was finding it increasingly difficult to capture the shimmer and glint in his eyes, just like his very first portrait of the boy. It was something he thought he had fixed over the past few paintings—of course, there was always something a little off with it, but Louis managed to convince himself that it was just his analytical side taking over. But now, looking at the sinful, green eyes, and trying to decipher what could possibly be wrong with them, it was like trying to finish a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece.

He sighed, picking up his brush again and swirling a little bit of a yellow into the iris. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what Harry’s eyes looked like. He stared at them for hours on end—not in person of course because that would be a little weird, he figured—but through the photo Harry had taken himself on Louis’ phone and set as his ID picture. Louis zoomed in on his eyes and absorbed every inch of colour. He memorised each hint of blue, each strip of yellow, and each little speck of brown that made up his brilliant shade of green. And, naturally of course, Niall had seen Louis stare at his eyes and called him out on it for more time than it was necessary, but that was beside the point. The real point was that Louis knew those eyes. He knew how they were supposed to look, and he knew every trace and every colour, yet he couldn’t paint the exact thing—and it was frustrating.

“Do you suppose his eyes are…off?” he asked, keeping his gaze focused on the portrait in front of him. He waited for Ms. Moffet’s honest opinion, ready for her to say that—yes, there was something off with those eyes—but instead, all he got in return was an airy sigh and a click of her tongue.

“This boy that you’re painting,” she trailed, “I take it you fancy him, hm?”

“You’re even worse than my flat mates,” he groaned, pressing the heel of his palm into his eyes. “And even nosier if that’s possible.”

“So I take that as a yes,” she chuckled. Louis ignored her, pretending as if he didn’t hear her as he continued to rub at his eyes. “Oh Louis! Don’t go all quiet on me now! We’re just getting started. Come on, tell me all about him. What’s he like? Where’d you guys meet? How bad do you have it for him?”

“Lay off it, will you?”

“At least tell me his name.”

Louis sighed internally, feeling utterly annoyed that he can’t go a single hour without having at least one person bug him about Harry. Sure, he never minded talking about him, in fact, he loved it. It was just that Louis knew that with all the questions came the relentless teasing and with this teasing came embarrassment, and he’d rather not be embarrassed, especially over his crush.

“Rodrigo,” he finally said, leaning back in his seat to meet Ms. Moffet’s eyes in hopes of tricking her. She laughed, punching Louis in the arm once.

“Yeah right. Come on, what’s his real name?”

“Harry,” he mumbled reluctantly, feeling the same attack of butterfly wings against his stomach when he said his name. He bit his lip to stop the shy smile that wanted to crawl on his face. It was too much—how could a boy, that wasn’t even in present, be able to control and manipulate Louis’ emotions and happiness?

Ms. Moffet cooed, slinging her arm around Louis’ shoulder lightly. “Well, if the blush on your cheeks didn’t give it away already, I’d say that the abundant paintings of young Harry here, has certainly given away your crush on him.”

Louis shrugged his shoulders, eyeing the door and wondering if it was too soon to leave. Would only fifteen minutes with Ms. Moffet be considered rude?

“Well, Louis,” she said, bringing his attention back to her. “To answer your question—no, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with his eyes. They look beautiful to me.”

“Really?”

She nodded her head. “You know sometimes, Louis, painting someone you really, truly like can be deceiving. You want every, single, little thing to be absolutely perfect in every aspect, and when you can’t fix that little thing, it can drive you crazy. Because when you love someone, you want them to be perfect and you picture them flawless in your head, even if it’s not necessarily true in real life.”

Louis mulled it over, nodding his head when he realised she was right. He chuckled mindlessly, lifting his eyes up to meet hers with a smirk. “So, what you’re basically saying is that there’s something wrong with his eyes in real life then.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, of course not. How could I assume that when I’ve never met him? I’m sure they’re lovely eyes.”

“They’re very lovely eyes.”

She smirks and Louis blushed when he realised what he just said. “And you’ve painted very lovely eyes as well. Don’t be too analytical, dear.”

Louis nodded his head, looking back at Harry’s eyes and accepting them for what they were. “You’re right. Thank you, Ms. Moffet.”

She smiled once before leaving him alone with his painting. Louis stared at his eyes once more, slowly smiling and nodding his head at the beauty. They truly were the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen, and he had come to realise that maybe he liked the mysterious glint they carried.

\---

The next two weeks flew by. It was full of many trips to the local primary school, many paintings of Harry, and also many rounds of laughter that had Louis bent in half for most of the time. He never really believed in soul mates before, but if there were such a thing, he would say that Harry was meant to be in his life. He couldn’t explain their connection exactly, other than the fact that they just…clicked. The conversations between them were never awkward or complicated, and Louis felt at ease with whatever topic it may be—whether it was something simple or elaborate.

Of course, that didn’t ease any of Louis’ nerves around Harry. He would still get nervous every time he went to the daycare, and he would still get nervous every time he caught Harry’s eye, but it was well worth it when he saw the boy smile and laugh. As they talked more and more with each other, Louis could feel the nerves vanish almost immediately, especially when Harry seemed just as eager to make conversation as Louis had.

Earlier that day, after returning to the daycare to continue his unnecessary art lessons, Louis felt a little tug on his shirt and without even hesitating, he swooped down to pick up the young girl, Elsie, in his arms, tickling her stomach as she giggled and squealed.

“What are you doing there, kiddo?” Louis said, propping the small girl, who hardly seemed any older than five, on his hip. She pressed her chubby hands against his cheeks, squeezing them together until his lips resembled that of a fish. Louis dramatically winced at the pressure, though it didn’t so much phase him. He stuck his tongue out, making her kick her legs around and laugh even harder earlier before she finally released his cheeks. “That hurt, Elsie!”

She gently kissed them, smiling when she pulled back. “I’m sorry, Louis.”

“It’s okay, babe. Did you have a question?”

She nodded her head enthusiastically, her eyes opening a little wider. “Do you love Harry?”

Louis’ stomach erupted with butterflies at the mere mention of his name. He glanced over his shoulder at the boy, mentally sighing in awe as he watched him read a picture book to two girls and a boy—all cuddled in his lap while two other girls were putting braids in his hair and a tiara on top of his head.

“Of course,” he said simply, smiling over at Harry before turning his attention back to Elsie. “He’s a great friend, isn’t he?”

She shook her head, pushing her forehead against Louis’. “No, do you fancy him!”

He bit his lip, unsure as to how he should respond. Of course, in his mind he knew that he fancied Harry a lot, but he wasn’t sure that he was willing to share that information with anyone else, more or less a five year old.

“Why do you want to know that, Elsie?”

“Because you look at him like my daddy looks at my mommy. And I think Harry looks at you like the way my mommy looks at my daddy. And my mommy and daddy are in love.”

Louis blushed at her words, feeling his skin warm everywhere from his head to his toes. He tried to hide his smile behind his teeth, but it was futile, especially when he glanced back at Harry again, who was now being tackled by five, young girls who were all giggling loudly as they tickled him.

“Can you keep a secret, Elsie?” Louis whispered in her ear. She sealed her lips together, pretending to throw the key away over her shoulder. “I think I fancy Harry.”

She pulled away, her eyes wide with a knowing smile. “I knew it,” she whispered.

“Okay, but you can’t tell Harry that, yeah? It’s our secret, remember?”

She nodded her head, smiling extra large before squirming in his arms to be put down again. Louis set her on her feet, watching as she bounced away from him, and running straight toward Harry. She whispered in his ear, and Harry’s face turned red before he nodded and made eye contact with Louis.

And Louis found that he didn’t even mind that Elsie didn’t know how to keep a secret.

He smiled at Harry, waving with his fingers and watching the way the boy was trying to stand up on his feet before the little kids tugged him back toward the carpet where they would continue to tickle his sides. Louis watched him in awe, admiring the way his eyes would squeeze shut and the way he’d blindly swat at their little fingers that continued to dig into his ribs and armpits. He could feel his heart swell with happiness, spreading a sense of warmth and comfort throughout his body as if Harry was a remedy for an illness. Yet, at the same time, Louis could feel the chills and goosebumps on his arms and the butterflies in his stomach—just like the movies. It was cliché, yes, but for him, the unsettling feeling of the erupting nerves had only seemed more real. He could feel the connection between him and Harry growing stronger, and he quite liked it. It made him feel warm and giddy, and it brought a smile to his face.

He wanted to join the little kids in their fun with Harry. He wanted to be able to touch and tickle the curly haired boy and make him squirm underneath him and watch as the tears would come to his eyes from laughing too hard. But he was currently helping the young children with a new art project, and though they weren’t actually listening to what he was saying, he knew that it would be unprofessional on his part to accompany the little five and six year olds with their tickle fight against Harry.

Then again, he thought, he wasn’t much of a professional to begin with—the five year olds were probably more mature than him. Not to mention that he had about the same level of humour as the majority of primary school boys, laughing uncontrollably whenever poop was mentioned. Even just the simple word had instantly brought a smile to Louis’ face, and he had to bite his lip in order to fight off a giggle that wanted to slip out. He could feel his cheeks begin to warm, forcing his eyes to his feet and allowing his thoughts to slip from immature toilet jokes back to Harry. His smile broadened immediately, his cheeks growing warmer than before, and it was then that he realised that—yes, he is indeed very immature if he can’t even fight off a blush after thinking about the boy—and yes, he is indeed head over heels for him.

He turned his attention back to the small group of kids at his own table, carefully helping them with their art piece, while simultaneously, though if only for a little, listening to them ramble on about their day. They told him countless stories about the supposedly haunted house on the corner of the street, and as interesting as that sounded, Louis, quite frankly, could only think about one other thing—Harry. He glanced over at him again, smiling instantly when he saw that Harry had already been looking at him. They smiled at each other goofily, each pulling a funny face, and giggling madly before the younger lad had finally stood up from his seat and made his way to the art table. Louis composed himself—or at least tried to—and found his hand trembling only slightly with the paintbrush still in his hand. He set it down, looking back up when a large shadow had fallen across his paper.

“So I’ve heard you’re a pretty good painter,” he said, taking a seat at the table and grabbing Louis’ paintbrush. His fingers curled around the base, hand wrapping around the wooden stick without any proper technique or skill, yet there was still an unidentified touch of grace in his hands that left Louis speechless as he stared at his long fingers. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good as well.”

Louis watched as he dragged the brush in slow circles across the blank paper, finding the boy smirking at Louis when he felt his gaze on him. Louis instantly shot an incredulous look in return, hoping to rid himself of the idiotic giddiness on his face that he was certainly feeling in his stomach, and instead replace it with a confident and overly dramatic raise of the eyebrows. He sincerely hoped that he hadn’t come across an idiot.

“Oh yeah?” Louis asked, reaching out to grab his painting. “Let me see—”

“No peaking!” Harry squealed, instantly covering his painting with his hands, acting like a primary school student himself. His bad boy façade was instantly dropped, and all there was left now was a cheek full of dimples and a toothy grin. Louis already felt more at ease at the simple action—Harry was just as immature as himself. “It’s a surprise!” he giggled, peeking up from under his arms.

Louis raised his hands in the air, offering a mock surrender, and beaming when he heard Harry chuckle under his breath. It was quiet and breathy, and Louis sat up even straighter with a grin on his face upon hearing the noise, acting like that was his purpose in life—to make that boy laugh. It wasn’t hard for him to accomplish the goal, seeing that Harry found nearly everything he said to be absolutely hilarious, but it was as if Harry’s laughter was a switch, turning on the light for Louis to see better. When he was happy and laughing, Louis seemed to see things with crystal vision. It was as if Harry was a light that shined in the dark, and Louis was the moth that was unconsciously attracted to him.

He was mesmerised with Harry’s focus on the painting—the way his tongue was poking out from behind his sealed lips, the way his forehead was scrunched in the middle, the way he kept his arm and hand cupped around his painting so Louis couldn’t see. He was like a child, and Louis never before felt such an intense connection with anyone else in his life.

“Louis, look at my painting!” A little girl exclaimed. She was painting what looked to be a rainbow and a happy sun, but all Louis could gather from it was a big, colourful mess. It was dripping with paint and the colours were blending to form awful contrasting hues.

“That’s a beautiful picture, Gracie,” he lied with a courteous smile.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, blushing with a shy grin, and gesturing for him to lean in closer with a small twitch of her finger. He chuckled quietly as her small hands wrapped around his ear and whispered loudly despite the fact that she wanted to keep her confession a secret. “It’s for Harry,” she said, “because he’s pretty…like a rainbow.”

Louis nodded his head, smiling as he looked over at Harry who had red cheeks and a small smile on his lips, having obviously heard Gracie’s opinion. Gracie was right, of course, Harry was like a rainbow, showing off his array of colours when the sun hit him correctly.

“I think I’d have to agree with you, Gracie,” Louis whispered loudly back, not bothering to lean into her ear. He watched for the younger boy’s reaction who smiled brightly and looked up from his painting, his green eyes open wide with innocence and awe, his cheeks turning a little brighter in colour. Louis wanted to stare at it all day, but Harry had quickly hid his face in his arms to conceal his flushed skin.

It made Louis take yet another mental picture of him, wanting to capture the exact moment so he could paint it later and treasure the way he made Harry blush like that forever. 

“Are you almost done, Curly?” he asked.

Harry picked his head up off his arms, giving Louis a sly smirk before sliding his paper across the table. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

Louis stared down at the painting, noticing the colour and curves—the actual image going right above his head. He was too engrossed in Harry’s smirk, and the way he chuckled under his breath, like an utter jock. However, it wasn’t until a few seconds later when the colours and lines finally started to form a painting in Louis’ mind, and almost instantly, his face warmed up and his eyes darted straight into Harry’s giggling ones.

“Harry!” He yelled. “We’re in a primary school! This is completely inappropriate!”

Harry laughed, smacking his hand against the table and biting his lip in the process. He brought his hand to his lip, frowning a bit at the pain before laughing even harder than before. It made it difficult for Louis to stay mad at him, already feeling a giggle threatening in his throat, but he swallowed it down and instead admired Harry in awe, as per usual. “That’s why it’s for you, Lou. It’s an accurate representation of my—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“What is it?” Gracie asked, reaching out to grab the paper from Louis’ grasp. She ripped it out of his hands and scrunched her eyebrows together as she stared at the paper and pointed at the image, “what is that?”

Harry collapsed on the table, bumping his foot against Louis’ and Louis briefly wondered if it was an accident.

“Erm, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, nearly falling out of his seat as he scrambled to get it back from her. He kicked Harry under the table to hush him who was still howling with laughter beside him, shoving at his shoulders which only made him topple to the ground with no grace.

“Yes it is!” She said, laughing along with Harry. “Tell me! What is it?”

“Go on, Louis,” Harry yelled from the floor, taking time to catch his breath only to laugh harder a second later, “tell her! And maybe while you’re at it you can give her a lesson on—”

“It’s nothing, Gracie! Harry, shut up. Can I have the painting back, please, Gracie?”

“Tyler!” Gracie yelled, calling over her shoulder for her older brother’s attention. “Come here!” He rushed to her side, peering over her shoulder before yanking the paper out of her hands and laughing.

“Hey!” He giggled, “that’s naughty!”

“What is that, Ty?” she asked.

He shook his head, handing the paper back to Louis before running back to his friends, and calling over his shoulder, “It’s a boy’s private part, Gracie! Don’t paint that or else I’m telling mum on you.”

Louis cringed when everyone in the daycare stopped talking, turning their attention to the boys—Harry was laughing unconditionally and Louis was certain that he had a permanent red face. He hesitantly glanced at Mrs. Davis from across the room. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were pressed into a hard line as she glared at Louis and Harry, obviously not impressed with the boys’ sense of humour. Louis wondered if this would be his last painting session at the daycare for him. He sheepishly shot a grin of apology before quickly ducking his face in his arms and promptly folding up the penis drawing, stuffing it into his coat pocket. He knew it was inappropriate and insignificant, but he also knew that he would probably never be able to throw the painting away. It made him happy—simply because it was something that Harry had made. And anything Harry made, would make Louis happy, too.

“Hey cheer up, mate,” Harry said, placing a hand on Louis’ back to rub soft circles into the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The warmth from his hand shot right to Louis’ heart, filling him with a sense of that wholesome happiness again. He leaned into the touch, allowing Harry’s palm to accidentally dig into his muscles. “It’s only inappropriate if you make it inappropriate.”

“But that was your intention.”

Harry laughed loudly, shrugging his shoulders in the process before pulling Louis’ head up so they could make eye contact. “You’re right. It was on purpose. I’m sorry,” he said with a shit eating grin on his face.

Louis rolled his eyes, punching him in the shoulder and watching as Harry yelped in surprise and rubbed at his skin where he was playfully punched. “You’re lucky we’re in a daycare, otherwise I would’ve hit you much harder and called you mean name.”

Harry laughed, his eyes clenching together as his hand flew up to cover his mouth. “I guess I’m pretty lucky then, huh? I wouldn’t want to be called a mean name.”

“You dick,” Louis mumbled under his breath, trying his best not to let his smile show through, and give away his giddiness, though he knew that it was already too late. He turned his head to see Harry with a hand covering his overly dramatic slacked jaw, and his big, wide eyes that were clearly dancing with humour despite his fake façade of his stunned expression. Louis had to focus on his hands just so he wouldn’t muck up and giggle like a young child in front of the beautiful boy. He has already done that plenty of times.

“Ooh! I’m telling!” Harry whispered, trying to get up from the table despite Louis’ tight grasp around his wrist.

Louis yanked him back down, making Harry fall into his lap and land with a loud grunt. Their eyes met, Louis looking down in admiration with the familiar chills and butterflies shooting through his body. He basked in the feeling, smiling softly at Harry below him who had a sheepish grin on his face.

“Oops,” he giggled, smiling a little larger.

His eyes held a mysterious glint, one that Louis presumed was a glitter of happiness, or maybe, he sincerely hoped, that the feeling of compatibility that Louis himself had felt when he was with Harry, was mutual for the other boy as well. Whether or not he correctly placed that hidden emotion, Louis definitely knew that there was something much more meaningful behind Harry’s eyes than what the boy had on display. Whatever it was, there was a strong sense of it—and Louis hoped that it was for the best.

“Hi,” he said, looking down and absentmindedly twirling the boy’s hair in his fingers, watching as his long curls spring back into place. “Don’t tell on me, please,” he whispered, feeling a smirk spread on his lips.

Harry stared up at him, trying to hide his smile, but ultimately failing when it slipped along with a quiet laugh.

They were both giggling now, their faces turning red with the lack of oxygen and little air in between their gasps of breath. Louis didn’t know what they were truly laughing about, but at that moment, he let it pass and allowed himself to laugh freely and loudly with the beautiful boy in his lap. It was a picturesque moment—one that Louis most definitely wanted to capture in his next painting.

“Okay,” Harry said, “I won’t tell. Do you forgive me?”

“Only after you make me some tea.”

Harry giggled into his hand, sitting up from Louis’ lap before throwing a wink in his direction. “After work, babe.”

And if Louis had to bury his face into his arms again to hide his big grin and red cheeks, well then no one had to know.

\---

They ended up in a small coffee shop down the road from the daycare. Louis had insisted that Harry had to buy him tea for his undeniable mistake of painting a penis on a paper at daycare, but to be fair, Louis knew deep down, that the real reason for making Harry buy him tea was so that he could spend more time with him before going home. They sat at a table in the back, talking obnoxiously loud in the quiet coffee shop on that dark evening, and Louis was staring at the boy across from him who sipped his tea from a mug with a smile still on his face—yet another picture Louis would paint.

“I think Liam was right,” Louis blurted out randomly when there was a second of silence between them.

“What?”

“Liam, my flat mate. I think he was right. He said I have an obsession, and I think he may be right.” Harry quirked his eyebrow, leaning on his elbows with his head in his hands and a thoughtful expression on his face as he waited for Louis to continue. “I think I may have a problem with painting cute boys who have green eyes and dimples.”

He watched as Harry’s face grew red instantly, smiling extra large and exposing the indentations on his cheeks, before lowering his chin and fiddling with his fingers. “’M not cute,” he mumbled, softly nudging Louis’ foot underneath the table. The movement had definitely proved Louis’ confession to be true.

“Okay,” Louis lied, linking his ankles with Harry’s. “Whatever you say.”

Harry playfully glared at him, laughing when Louis stuck his tongue out at him. “I guess I have an obsession, too.”

“You paint pictures of insanely hot guys who happen to coincidentally look exactly like me?”

Harry laughed, smacking his hand against Louis’ forearm. “No.”

“Then what?”

“I’m not telling you,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. His eyes shimmered with that same mysterious glint.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Come on,” Louis whined. “I told you mine.”

“And I’m not telling you mine,” he said standing up from the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a wee.”

“I hope you trip and fall so that you’ll hit your head and knock some sense into you.”

Harry laughed. “That’s just mean!”

Louis sat there, finding himself smiling to himself as he replayed the entire conversation in his head, forward and back, remembering the way Harry would giggle and laugh and grin as he talked. It was soothing to listen to, like the hush of an ocean’s wave or the quiet whispers of the rain, and despite the customary sense of closure and solitude with those sounds, Louis discovered that he wouldn’t mind listening to it every day.

Several seconds full of mindless smiles and empty silence passed, and soon Louis could no longer hear the quiet echo of Harry’s laughter, and his restless anxiety of the still air kicked in once again. He tapped his foot against the floor, picking up the salt and pepper with both hands and laughing quietly as he dumped them into Harry’s tea, imagining his face when he would go to take a sip. He knew it was mean, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it wasn’t mean, and he knew that Harry didn’t have to take him out to the coffee shop, but this was Louis—he was the practical joker—and when silence became too loud for him, his antics would return with a high demand.

He quickly mixed the salt and pepper around with his finger, only having slight doubts about putting his finger in Harry’s tea that, undeniably, was infected with germs and paint after spending an afternoon with primary school children, and then placing the shakers back against the window in the exact same spot, as if nothing ever happened. Having been in a few plays here and there before, Louis perfected his mask of innocence by leaning back in his chair casually, an easy smile on his face, and a raise of an eyebrow when he finally seen Harry walking back to their table.

Louis smirked at him, watching as he cupped his hands around the mug, waiting for him to take his first sip. “So you live with other people?” Harry asked, bringing the mug away from his lips at the last second. He traced the top of the cup with his finger as he waited for Louis’ answer.

“Unfortunately so,” Louis said with a sigh.

“Why is that so unfortunate?”

“Because, young Harold, we’re all great friends, and because of that, there comes a time when you know just a tad too much about each other.”

“That can’t be too bad, can it?”

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Louis sighed, shaking his head back and forth. He reached across the table to touch Harry’s knuckles—a seemingly innocent task, Louis convinced himself, though he knew the real reason was to have an excuse to feel his skin under his fingers. “You are such a naïve, little boy.”

“Hey!”

“I suppose they’re great friends, even though they’re pretty invasive most days, and two of them snog each other all the time, and sometimes you can hear them moaning when they’re doing the dirty.”

Louis stopped to smirk at Harry, wiggling his eyebrows in, what he sincerely hoped, was a flirtatious manner, but he gotten the hint that it was most definitely the opposite when Harry started laughing uncontrollably. Louis joined him, pushing his immediate embarrassment to the side, and instead soaking himself in the positive energy that Harry gave off.

His stomach was hurting, and even though he knew it was from laughing too hard, he also knew that it was from the constant attacks of butterflies that fluttered in his stomach whenever he heard Harry laugh. It was as if a single giggle that escaped Harry’s mouth was a sudden formation of a new army that would march right through Louis’ body—starting at his ears and moving to his heart. It would march across his skin, making it prickle with an absolute warmth that Louis could only identify as a shared piece of connection with Harry. It was something magical for him, yet utterly scary because it was something entirely new.

He unwillingly shook the feeling off, not truly wanting to get rid of the warmth, but the sudden realisation that he hadn’t spoken in a few seconds and he had instead been staring at Harry with an awed expression the whole time, made him jump immediately back into conversation. The repressed feelings grew heavier in his stomach and he stared adoringly at Harry.

“What about you, Harry? Got any crazy flat mates?”

He fiddled with his coffee cup, shaking his head with a smile. “No, I live with my parents still. Saving money, I guess. It just gets a little lonely.”

Louis nodded his head, hearing the sadness, or possibly disappointment in Harry’s voice even though his smile is still present. “You don’t need them anyway,” Louis said with a wave of his hand, knowing that Harry didn’t seem interested in elaborating his current residence status. “Besides, you don’t even have to pay for food if you live with your parents, and that beats all.”

Harry giggled once, lifting the mug up to his lips. “If you say so,” he said before taking a sip. Louis bit his lip, watching Harry swallow the vile drink. His face shriveled up in distaste and quick, consecutive coughs replaced his laughter. “Louis!” He squealed, glaring at him, already knowing that he had to have been behind it. “What did you do?” he coughed.

“Hey! Why do you think I had something to do with your foul drink? I’m not a bad guy, Harry.” Louis rushed out with a smile on his face. He slid his cup away from Harry unconsciously, watching as Harry pouted and furrowed his eyebrows in an adorable way.

“This is coming from the guy who got kicked out of the library…twice.”

“And that makes me a bad guy?”

“Yes!” Harry said with a laugh, trying to grab Louis’ tea out of his hands. Louis squealed and hunched over his cup.

“Get your hands away from me mug, ya loser. This is mine, and I don’t want your germs on the glass.”

“I think you like my germs. Now, what did you do to my drink?”

“Nothing!” Louis yelled, biting his lip and eyeing the salt and pepper on the table. Harry followed his line of vision, raising his eyebrows in question and giggling when Louis cupped his hands away the top of his mug with a grin.

Harry shook his head, jumping out of his seat to grab the salt and pepper, and Louis screamed, grabbing his mug and running away, knocking over chairs in the process—the clattering of the wood against the hard floor echoing in the room along with their laughter.

“Thanks for the tea, love! I’ll see you around!” Louis yelled over his shoulder.

He dashed out of the coffee shop with a big grin on his face when he realised that the last thing he saw was Harry’s gorgeous smile.

\---

The next day, Louis sat behind his easel, trying to work on his new art piece. He was struggling with the new assignment for his art class. It needed to be something abstract—a piece purposely made to look unrealistic and ambiguous to everyone, and Louis was awful with that type of artwork. He wasn’t used to painting debatable pieces or vague concepts. He had always been precise in his techniques, so straight forward and blunt that they looked like near replicas to his object of interest.

Ms. Moffet knew that Louis would struggle with this project, but that was the very purpose for assigning it. She wanted him to branch out, and step out of his comfort zone willingly, but unfortunately for Louis, he was not ready. And honestly—fuck, Ms. Moffet. This was a dumb arse project idea.

After sitting in his room for a long time, painting random squiggles and odd lines across the paper, he finally decided to go for a run that dreary afternoon. He grabbed his iPod and headphones on the way out, stuffing them into his ears and left abruptly without even a little ‘goodbye’ to his flat mates. It hadn’t mattered anyway, it was the early hours of the morning, almost nearing 7 o’clock, and none of the lazy arse boys were up yet, except for Louis who had been up since four, racking his brain for an idea. He couldn’t sleep that night, his thoughts racing around the project and Harry.

He ran in no specific direction, just listening to the beat of his music and his controlled breathing as his legs carried him anywhere. His feet slapped against the hard concrete loudly, and he tried, yet failed, to make his footsteps softer.

Never been one for running anyway, he slowed his pace to a steady walk, now entering a wooded path that lead to an unattained nature trail. There were little flower buds that were trying to grow on the side of the path, but the plush pine trees offered too much shade for them, hiding the sun away from the baby flowers.  
It could have been a relaxing atmosphere for Louis, had it not been for the stillness within the air. Besides the birds singing their songs for anyone to listen to, there were no other noises to distract Louis’ mind. Subconsciously, he turned up the music a little louder on his iPod before he came across a small pond.

He admired it for awhile, taking a mental picture of the stoic water that only moved when he tossed a small pebble into the middle. The ripples started small in the centre where the stone landed and then it was expanding and growing larger until it hit the other shore and consequently calmed down again. The little waves made the birds sitting on top of the water bop up and down, and made the algae and lily pads move along with it.

He threw in a few more rocks, knowing he should probably stop before the birds would plan to attack him for annoying their peace, but Louis was always one for accidentally disturbing people and messing with their habitual practices.

He stood up, getting ready to make his way back home before something caught his eye not too far away from where he was sitting. It was a boy, sitting on a log, alone, and writing fervently in a journal. Louis didn’t have to look hard to see that the boy had long, brown hair that curled at the ends. His heart immediately sped up at the sight, sending his pulse into overdrive. It was weird for Louis to see Harry outside of the daycare, especially in an environment that was so quiet. It reminded him of the first time they met in the library.

He reminded himself not to flirt dramatically this time, so he wouldn’t have to relive his embarrassing memory.

He quietly walked closer to Harry, doing his best to avoid twigs and leaves that would crack under his feet and give away himself to the oblivious bloke. Harry sighed loudly, looking out into the pond and setting his journal beside him. It was the same journal that he held in front of his mouth at the library, Louis noted. He wondered if he often wrote in that notebook, briefly thinking about the things he must write about.

Harry stared at seemingly nothing, long breaths and empty air filling the silence as he sat there for a long time with his chin in his hands. Louis tried to follow his path of vision, but nothing ever caught his attention. He began to feel a surge of worry and panic in his blood, feeling a sense of sadness creep up on him. Was there a reason why Harry was sitting in silence and staring at nothing?

Louis, although he didn’t want to believe it, knew that there was something obviously bothering Harry. Why else would he come out here and sit and watch static water in the early hours of the morning. And since Louis’ arrival, there hadn’t been even the smallest of smiles on his face, not even a little giggle—though, Louis decided that might be a good thing; it’d be a little worrisome if he had laughed to himself.

Nevertheless, he felt the need to make his boy smile—it was his duty after all. He took in a deep breath, feeling the air enter in through his nostrils, and letting it out slowly through his mouth before walking closer to the boy.

“Harry!” He screamed, running over to the log and tackling the boy over. He started laughing, waiting until Harry would recognise who knocked him off his chair.

The boy groaned, sitting up with a hand pressed against his head as he looked at Louis, and as soon as his eyes focused on the older boy, he began to break out into a huge grin, giggling while punching him in the shoulder lightly. “That hurt, you idiot.”

Louis waved him off, trying to peak into Harry’s journal before the boy quickly snatched it out of his hands and glared at him, though Louis thought he looked more adorable than angry. “What are you doing here all by yourself, young man?” he teased Harry. “You seem a bit lonely.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was taking a run, actually, but it’s way too quiet and serene back here. How do you stand it?” Louis asked, picking up a few rocks and chucking them all into the water at the same time. He listened to the sound of them plopping into the water, watching again as the ripples extended to the other side of the pond. The birds flapped their wings, getting ready as if they wanted to fly away.

“It’s relaxing,” Harry said. “Well…it was until you arrived. Stop throwing rocks. You’re annoying the birds.”

Louis smirked at Harry, quickly dropping down to pick up another stone, and though Harry tried to wrestle it out of his hand, he managed to throw another one into the lake, nearly hitting a goose in the head. It squawked and flapped its wings obnoxiously loud, flying away along with the rest of the birds, and he noticed how Harry was trying hard not to laugh, but no matter how hard he bit his lip, he still couldn’t manage to hide it. He pressed his hand against his mouth, turning away from Louis to hide his grin.

“There’s no point in hiding it, young Harold. It’s funny and you know it.”

“Louis, you scared them away!”

“Good,” he said, putting his hand on Harry’s arm and pushing him towards the water’s edge. “Now you can go swimming, and I’ll throw stones at you instead.”

“Stop!” Harry screamed, laughing loudly. “It’s cold out and I’m wearing clothes!”

“You can always take them off,” Louis said cheekily, still pushing Harry toward the water.

Harry laughed louder, grinding his heels into the dirt and leaning his weight completely on Louis to stop himself from being thrown into the water. His hair tickled Louis’ skin, and his touch warmed Louis’ heart once again. Louis pressed his chest into Harry, wondering if he could feel his erotic heartbeat. He hoped he could.

The laughter filled the haunting silence, and suddenly, Louis felt as though it wasn’t as eerie as it was before. “Louis! I’m not going swimming!” Harry giggled as Louis threw him over his shoulder. The boy gripped Louis’ shirt in his fist, curling into the older boy’s t-shirt and pressing his nose against the back of the fabric.

“I’m throwing you in the water in three seconds!”

“No!” Harry squealed, kicking his legs and arms against Louis. “Louis! Put me down. I don’t want to go!”

“Do you have a valid reason as to why I should put you down?”

“Yes!” he laughed. “Yes, I do! I’m not wearing a bathing suit, and I don’t have an extra set of clothes, and I really just don’t want to go swimming, Louis!”

Louis bounced him on his shoulder, laughing when Harry gasped in fright and clutching onto his shirt harder. “Hm, I’m not sure if that’s really a valid reason—”

“I’ll bake you a cake!”

Louis let out a loud laugh at that, dropping Harry back on his feet and pulling him back towards the log. “Deal,” he said, listening as Harry let out a deep breath and another round of laughter. Louis liked the sound of that—Harry’s laughter. He never wanted it to stop.

They sat on the log together, not saying anything for a few seconds before Louis grew restless and turned to face Harry. “Honestly, why were you here?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, watching his feet as they turned inward toward each other with a blush on his cheeks. His lip was tugged into his mouth, and Louis wondered if it’d be weird to gently pull it out with his fingers.

“I don’t know…just writing for one of my classes,” he said quietly, though there was a slight chuckle at the end of his sentence as if he was unsure whether or not he wanted to reveal the real reason for coming to the pond. “It’s just quiet, I guess,” he added with another laugh that didn’t quite meet his downcast eyes.

“You like this?” Louis asked bewildered, gesturing to the quiet trees and pond. He stared at the boy, wondering how it was possible how anyone could enjoy the silence and its accompanying solitude. “But it’s so…lonely.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders again, refusing to make eye contact with Louis. He smiled at the ground, though Louis noticed that his dimple hadn’t appeared. “It’s not bad.”

“What do you write about?” Louis asked, reaching for his journal before Harry yanked it away with a sheepish smile.

“Excuse you,” Harry said. “Do I ever ask to see any of your paintings?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t see my writing,” he giggled.

Louis knew he was only teasing, but he could still see the hint of seriousness behind his smile. And the fact that he decided to completely ignore Louis’ question was enough of a hint for him to change the subject, sensing Harry’s hostility.

“You’re a weird guy, Harry Styles. How can anyone like being alone with silence? I can’t stand it. It makes me want to vomit.”

Harry played with the edge of his journal, shrugging his shoulders and toying with the papers inside his notebook. “Silence is my favourite sound.”

Louis simply nodded his head, though he wasn’t completely sure as to what he was agreeing with, seeing that, quite obviously, silence made absolutely no sound, and Harry was acting all philosophical and weird. He picked up another rock and threw it into the pond, watching as it made a little splash before the only thing left was the little ripples that raced along the surface.

Harry had started laughing uncontrollably then, still avoiding Louis’ eyes with his own eyes squeezed tight. Louis looked at him questioningly, wondering what exactly he found funny from throwing a rock into the water, but he didn’t think about it for too long, and instead he leaned back and listened to Harry, joining him in the round of laughter and letting it bounce off the water and echo in the trees.

\---

Louis sat behind his easel again, forcing himself to pick out the flaw in his artwork. According to Louis, it was technically only his second time painting a portrait of Harry. Contrary to his belief, however, Niall often referred to his bedroom as the Harry Museum, deeming that appropriate since there were little green eyes and dimples on about fifty sheets of paper that littered his desk and drawers. Louis couldn’t help himself—there was just something so enticing and so attractive about Harry’s face, yet there was always that same lacking substance in every one of his quick paintings.

Louis stared at his finished product, finding that same something yet again. It wasn’t in the eyes this time, like it was the first. He finally fixed that problem, be it something he still couldn’t place, but he fixed it nonetheless. It was something about Harry’s skin tone this time. He couldn’t understand why—it looked exactly as he had seen it every week, but again, that same something was off, and it was driving him mad.

“Louis!”

He jumped in his seat when Niall screamed in his ear. His hand flew across the canvas, dragging the pink paint across the entirety of his work.

“You dickhead!” Louis yelled, examining the damage he had done to his painting. The pink left a streak of paint on half of Harry’s face, concealing his eyes and cheeks. Louis turned around in his seat with a hard glare in his eyes. “You ruined it!”

Niall simply waved his hand in the air, not at all bothered with what he did. He knew Louis would have repainted the portrait anyway, and so he jumped on the bed, picking up Louis’ phone in his hands and unlocking it with ease. “Well since you’re done painting now, go make me some food.”

“I am not making you food. You have two fucking hands. Go fucking make it yourself and leave me alone.”

“Whoa! Watch you’re language, young man.”

“Sod off. You’re just as bad as me.”

Niall simply laughed at Louis, finding if hilarious how his voice got louder and his face got redder from yelling. “Well then tell Liam and Zayn to stop sucking face. They’re in the kitchen and I don’t want them doin’ it on the counter while I’m trying to make me self a sandwich.”

Louis groaned, letting his head fall backwards while trying to ignore Niall’s laughter. “I’m moving out,” he muttered. Niall laughed, rolling onto his back, still playing on Louis’ phone. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just playing a game.”

“Play it on your own,” Louis said, crumbling his ruined painting in his hands. “I don’t trust you with my phone.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do, look through your search history?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Niall gasped. “I can’t believe you don’t have any trust in me! Me—of all people?”

“Niall, you locked me out just last week when I beat you in a game of FIFA.”

“Your point?”

Louis gave him an unimpressed look.

“Well…I’m not looking through your search history, if that’s what you’re implying," Niall concluded.

Louis laughed, rolling his eyes before setting up a new piece of paper on his easel, making Niall groan and chuck a pillow at his head. “Stop painting.”

“Stop complaining and leave me alone.”

“But I love you so much, Louis.”

“I love you too,” he said, not giving much thought to the blonde boy who continued to fiddle with Louis’ phone. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m making you a sandwich.”

Niall scoffed, letting out a deep sigh. “But Louis,” he whispered, suddenly sitting up on his bed and looking at the boy with wide eyes. “That’s what best mates do, yeah? They show each other their love and affection through their shared passion of food!”

“That…” he began before trailing off and thinking about Niall’s comment thoroughly, “is very true. Now, go make me a sandwich…best friend,” Louis said with a smirk, beginning his portrait once again. He chuckled when he heard Niall groan.

“Fine. But only because I know you need to get ready for tonight and I’d rather not watch you burn the house down while getting prepared.”

Louis picked his head up immediately to look at Niall. The bastard had a smug look on his face that worried Louis. “What’s tonight? What’ve you done?”

He shrugged his shoulders, making his way to the door and throwing Louis’ phone back on the bed. “I don’t know,” he said laughing. “But you may want to clean yourself up…you know…if something were to happen tonight with a certain curly guy…if you catch my drift.”

Louis stared at him in confusion, and Niall simply just winked and walked out of the room with a loud laugh. “Niall! What did you do?” Louis screamed after him, running towards his phone and unlocking it. It opened to a conversation between Harry and “himself”—one that he certainly didn’t remember. “Niall!” He yelled. “You invited him over?”

He knew Niall heard him when he heard his laugh once more from around the corner, but Louis didn’t pay attention to that. He had only a few hours to get ready, and he was currently sitting in his ratty pair of joggers that had paint all over them. He needed to take a shower, fix his hair, and get changed before he could take his anger out on Niall.

He quickly hopped around his room, looking for clean clothes to put on after he finished his shower. It seemed like everything was either too casual, or it smelled like a prepubescent boy. He couldn’t figure out which was worse.

He finally threw on a decent smelling t-shirt and skinny jeans before finally calling it a day, and rushing around the house to get ready for the “planned” movie night.

\---

Liam and Zayn had been spending the time snogging each other on the couch, too interested in each other to notice Louis’ frantic state. He ran around the flat, spraying an air freshener around the room in hopes that it’ll take away the smell of the pasta he had accidentally burned in hopes to woo Harry. He hastily cleaned up the random socks on the ground and the wrappers on the table, stuffing them into the bin, not caring that some of his perfectly clean socks were getting thrown out. 

Meanwhile, Niall sat beside Liam and Zayn, who continued to kiss each other passionately on the couch, and Niall, being the chirpy lad that he was, hadn’t felt awkward at all, nor had he felt like the third wheel. He just happily munched on his sandwich, trying to look completely innocent as he experimentally threw his crust and paper plate on the ground, wondering if Louis would throw it out for him so he wouldn’t have to get up from the sofa. He laughed as Louis picked up his mess without any complaints, too worried about Harry to notice anything else.

“You’re so whipped,” Niall chuckled.

He hadn’t expected Louis to hear it, but somehow, the boy stopped what he was doing and turned around to face Niall with raised eyebrows, his hands planted firmly on his hips.

“Excuse me? I am not whipped. You guys just live like slobs.”

“Says the biggest slob,” Niall said as he turned his attention back to the telly.

Louis turned on his heel with a huff, making his way to the kitchen to make sure everything was clean and orderly one last time. Harry texted him, telling Louis that he was on his way over about ten minutes ago, and yet he still wasn’t here. Louis was a nervous wreck. There wasn’t a need to be nervous—after all, they talked to each other dozens of times at daycare and had even went out to dinner once. But, it was the first time he was meeting his friends, and that thought alone scared Louis to no ends.

He glanced at the clock, noticing Harry was late, and then proceeded to walk to the front window to wait for him. There wasn’t any movement on the street—no headlights, no people, no sound. Louis felt it creeping up on him, sinking into his bones, and making him shudder. He grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders tightly and anxiously as he bounced his leg up and down while he waited for Harry.

Niall, although seemingly attentive to the telly, was the only one that could see Louis’ anxious behaviour, and despite keeping his eyes on the screen, he was the only one that was truly concerned about his friend.

“Louis, why are you so nervous, mate?” Louis shrugged his shoulders, still staring outside. “We’re just gonna watch a movie and eat dinner—there’s hardly going to be any action between any of us.”

Louis nodded his head, agreeing with his friend and feeling foolish for being so worried. He turned away from the window and sat beside Niall on the couch. Liam and Zayn were now cuddling against each other, nipping at each other’s earlobes and giggling and whispering like schoolchildren.

“That could be you and Harry,” Niall said when he saw Louis watching the couple beside him. “God I really hope you won’t be that disgusting though. I won’t be able to take it.”

Louis laughed, feeling some of his initial tension leave his shoulders.

“I don’t understand why you’re so nervous, mate.”

Louis let out a loud sigh, ducking his chin into his chest. “I’m not sure either, Niall. It’s silly, innit?”

“A bit, yeah,” Niall confessed with a light laugh. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure Harry is just as nervous as you are right now. I mean, he has to meet three of your idiotic friends! That’d be a little worrisome. To be honest, I’m a bit worried for him, too, just because we’ll probably spread the stupidity—the poor, unfortunate boy.”

Louis chucked. “Yeah, how unfortunate. I should have warned him.”

“Hey, we’re not that bad,” Niall said, nudging Louis’ shoulder gently.

“No, you’re not.”

There was a brief moment of silence to which Louis had instantly looked back out the window in hopes of seeing Harry’s car. His nerves had settled significantly, but it still hadn’t calmed the burning passion and need to see Harry.

“I’m going to be all alone,” Niall said, breaking Louis out of his thoughts. “First Liam and Zayn, and now you and Harry. What about me? Who’s going to make me my best friend love sandwich now?”

Louis chuckled, pinching his friend’s cheek hard. “Well grow a pair and find the one, doofus.”

“But Louis, no one makes as good of a sandwich as you do! It’s made with love.”

Louis laughed. “Niall, we both know that’s complete shit. I never make you food.”

“Yeah, I know. D’ya think Harry will make me one?”

Louis rolled his eyes, flinching when he heard the doorbell ringing. His stomach immediately churned and flipped with anxious butterflies.

“He’s here!”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Niall muttered.

Louis hit him over the head with his hand before rushing to the front door and pressing his hands against the front of his shirt to smooth out any wrinkles. His heart was melting, already picturing what Harry would look like when he opened the door—a smile with dimples on display—but when he finally saw the younger boy, his heart skipped a beat, and it wasn’t from Harry’s natural charm.

The first thing Louis noticed was Harry’s bloodshot and puffy eyes that looked highly irritated and itchy. They were heavy with purple bags and dark circles, looking much angrier against his extremely pale complexion and red nose.

And the second thing he noticed was the award winning smile with dimples attached.

“Hi,” Harry said bashfully, ducking his head when he noticed Louis staring. “I baked you a cake like I promised.”

He immediately stuffed the pan into Louis’ hands, biting his lip as to stop a little giggle. Louis stared at him in admiration, feeling his heart fill with warmth before jumping up and down with excitement and pressing a little kiss to Harry’s cheek.

It was friendly—of course—but Louis couldn’t help the fireworks in his stomach, and he couldn’t help from noticing the little blush on Harry’s face.

“What a day to be alive!”

Harry laughed loudly at that, and though Louis knew it really wasn’t that funny, he still beamed and smiled over the fact that he could make his crush laugh that hard. He watched as Harry took his boots off and nearly fell over as he struggled with his balance. Louis quickly placed his hands on Harry’s hips, making sure that he stayed upright.

“You alright there?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered, biting his lip and turning around in Louis’ grasp. His bloodshot eyes focused on Louis’ clear blue ones, and Louis noticed how they were starting to water around the edges.

“Have you got allergies?” Louis asked.

“Huh?”

“Allergies?” He repeated. “Your eyes look very irritated.”

“I do,” he said hesitantly. “And Hay Fever.”

“I didn’t know that.”

He was always surprised when he learned new things about Harry. Most times it felt like he was prying just to get information out of him. Sometimes Louis just felt like he, himself, was a coal miner and Harry was the mine—dark, dangerous, and mysterious that hid important valuables from the world. Louis wanted to be the one to chip away his coal and hold in it his hands.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, wiping the water from his eyes. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night…that’s probably why my eyes are so red."

“Pulled an all nighter, huh?” Louis joked.

Harry laughed. “Something like that…essay writing I suppose,” he chuckled, casting his eyes downward. Louis simply nodded his head, helping Harry out of his jacket and hanging it up on the hook beside the door.

“Are we going to stand here all night, or…?”

“No.” Louis knocked his shoulders against the taller boy’s playfully, and Harry laughed—very loudly—but if Louis was mistaken, it sounded almost strained and forced, along with his matching smile. There were no dimples this time, and his eyes didn’t quite match his expression.

It was the nerves, Louis thought, and it instantly made him beam. The reassuring thought that Harry might possibly have butterflies in his stomach made an entire flock of geese flutter through his body, and Louis didn’t mind it one bit.

“What movie are we going to watch?” Harry asked.

“Whatever you want.”

Harry shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I’m not choosing.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the guest. Guests choose what we do.”

“And being the guest, I’m deciding that I want you to choose,” Harry said with a final word before Niall jumped up to greet him.

“Hey, mate!” Niall said as he hugged Harry tight. Harry laughed in his ear, returning the embrace without any hesitation. “It’s about time you made it. Louis never shuts up about you. You know he painted—”

“Dinner! Let’s go eat dinner,” Louis interrupted, kicking Niall in the arse to shut him up. Thankfully, Niall caught his hint, and dropped the sentence completely, but just by Harry’s flushed cheeks and knowing smirk, Louis knew that Harry was well aware of his paintings.

“Maybe you could show me them sometime,” Harry whispered in his ear hotly, biting his lip as he pulled away from Louis with a lingering look. He smirked before walking away quickly, leaving Louis to stare at his little bum that purposely swayed with each step towards the kitchen.

\---

The boys and Harry all got on well, as if they had known each other for years, and there wasn’t a moment when it felt awkward. They ate dinner first, Harry eating sluggishly because he laughed more than he chewed. It was odd for Louis, Liam, and Zayn to hear him more than Niall at dinner. It wasn’t necessarily because he was talking as fast or as often as Niall—it was simply his loud laughter. It sounded off at random times, bouncing off the walls that seemed to make everyone else smile and laugh in return. 

“So what do you study at uni, Harry?” Liam asked.

Harry politely wiped his mouth with his napkin, twisting it around in his hands as he cleared his throat. “I uh, study physiotherapy?” He said like a question.

“Oh really? What made you want to do that?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking down at his plate. “I guess when I went to physiotherapy for my back, I decided to look into that field.”

“He’s super smart,” Louis jumped in, gushing over the way Harry’s cheeks instantly turned red to match his eyes and nose. “He’s always slipping out random facts about the human body to me.”

“I’m not super smart. I just…like that kind of stuff. What do you guys study?” He asked, quickly changing the subject and bringing the attention off of him.

“’M not sure yet,” Niall said automatically. “I should know my major by now, but Christ, I want to live a little before all the mature-adult nonsense. Maybe I’ll be a bartender. D’ya think I can be a bartender, Liam?”

“You can be whatever you want to be, Niall.”

“That’s a shit idea,” Louis responded at the same time, making Harry laugh once again.

“Why?” he whined. “I know everything there is to know!”

“Yes, but you’ve also been going to uni for the past two years. Sounds like a big load of wasted money if you ask me.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I wasn’t asking you then,” Niall said, sticking his tongue out. “Liam said I can do whatever I want, so if I want to be a bartender, then you can suck it.”

“I’m sure he would love to do that with Harry,” Zayn said in Liam’s ear, ultimately trying to whisper and make a foul joke, but it was the loudest whisper Louis had ever heard.

His face burned—he could have easily denied the comment, but he knew it was secretly true. He glanced a look at Harry, and he couldn’t decide if he was relieved or embarrassed by the boy’s expression. It was obvious that he heard. His cheeks were red and his lip was bitten. But he had a smirk on his face, and he kept raising his eyebrows that made Louis want to punch him in the shoulder and snog him at the same time.

“Shut it, Styles,” he mumbled, pouting when Harry laughed loudly.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Yes, but you were going to.”

“Mate, I don’t think he was,” Liam said, laughing along with Harry, to which Louis flicked a pea in his direction.

“Shut up, Liam.”

He looked down at his plate, waiting until his embarrassment faded and his joyful attitude returned. The boys continued to talk amongst themselves, and Louis watched Harry from the corner of his eye. He liked the way the boy listened intently to his best mates’ plans for their future. He liked the way Harry would laugh at nothing funny in particular, and he liked the way Harry would smile down at his food a lot with his eyes half closed.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Niall whispered in Louis’ ear. Louis pulled back, glaring at him before glancing over at Harry who’s looking at them curiously. Niall leaned in closer to Louis’ ear again. “Oh wait, you’ve already done that—you’ve painted him enough times to last you your lifetime.”

He kicked Niall hard underneath the table at that.

“So…movie?” Louis exclaimed suddenly, brushing off Harry’s odd look and clearing everyone’s empty plate.

He led the crew to the telly and Harry had followed very close behind, stepping on Louis’ heels occasionally, but Louis never seemed to mind. He tried to force Harry to pick out a movie, and finally, after much reluctance, he hesitantly pointed to a random movie and looked questioningly at Louis and his friends.

“Be bold, Harry. Be bold with your decision,” Louis said, grinning. “Say it loud and proud! Who cares what my friends think! If you want to watch Forrest Gump then damnit—we’re gonna watch Forrest Gump.”

Harry laughed quietly, rolling his eyes and biting his lip. “Can we watch Forrest Gump?”

“I don’t know,” Louis said, “that really wasn’t that convincing.”

“Ignore him, Harry,” Liam said, “Louis, lay off it.”

“Hey, this is an important life lesson, Liam, okay? Niall, start the film.”

Niall groaned, leaning back against the couch. “We just watched this yesterday, Louis! Come on, can we watch something else?”

Louis shook his head, wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders and scooting him closer to his own body. “No,” he told Niall, clasping a hand over Harry’s mouth when he saw that he was about to protest and change his movie decision. “I didn’t get to see the whole thing yesterday, and I want to watch it. Besides, when I walked in here, you were barely even watching it. You were too busy texting that girl from the bar.”

“She was fit,” he said as an excuse.

“Over text?” Louis asked. “I’m ashamed of you, Niall. Now shut up and start the damn movie.”

“As you wish, your highness.”

“We don’t have to watch this,” Harry whispered in his ear. “We can watch something else. That’s fine.”

“No,” Louis said, glaring at Niall when he refused to press play on the movie. “I really like this movie and I want to watch it.” He directed his attention to Niall. “Will you get on with it already?”

“Always so damn needy,” Niall mumbled, pressing play on the remote.

Harry chuckled against his side, leaning his head ever so softly on Louis’ shoulder. A blanket was spread over top of them, hiding the way their fingers and legs were tangled with each other for the rest of the night.

\---

The movie ended about an hour ago—it was now midnight. The streets were dark and quiet, but Harry’s giggles and Louis’ jokes were filling the empty air. They walked hand-in-hand to the nature trail, swinging their clasped hands back and forth while smiling broadly at each other with soft music playing from their iPods. Louis couldn’t exactly see Harry, but he knew, simply from his obnoxiously loud laughter, that his smile was big and his dimples were deep.

He sat underneath a wooden gazebo, little lights hanging from the top of the ceiling, and pulled Harry alongside him, carefully placing the tiny piece of cake he snagged from his kitchen on his lap.

“Open wide,” he said, holding up a fork to Harry’s mouth. The boy giggled, beaming at Louis with a small smile. It made Louis stop and stare at him, basking in all the beautiful and harmonious sights before him, allowing the green eyes to envelop him in a daze. He was completely stricken with an intense feeling that he couldn’t seem to place—like there was some kind of warmth and freely flowing energy that was sticky on his bones, yet airy on his skin. He felt mystified—completely at a loss with the name of this feeling.

Harry smiled shyly at Louis, his eyes sparkling in the dim lights. He hesitantly linked their fingers together, Louis immediately feeling the shooting rockets in his stomach, flying toward his throat and tapping at his lips. He smiled—it was the only thing he could do at the moment. He was completely and utterly falling into deeper depths, falling freely and waiting for Harry’s warm arms to cuddle him close. Instead, a hand gently pulled Louis up, strong arms wrapping around his neck, and a warm comfort spreading through his chest as a slow song played in the background.

Hushed piano music surrounded the air and softened Louis’ crying heart until it oozed into his soul. It slowed with his pulse, dropping into his stomach and lifting him up until he felt as if the earth’s gravity was beyond weak and he was floating. Yet, the love and the warmth flowing and filling Louis had kept him anchored to land, drowning him with moments of sheer happiness, joy, and affection—a fleet of emotions that would melt and mix and leave just a bit of confusion along with the rest. The love between the two was strong and overwhelming, but beautiful nonetheless.

Louis’ heart was beating forcefully against his bones, seeing the way Harry’s cheeks were flushed with a beautiful, rosy colour and the way he quietly lowered his eyes to the ground with a shy smile. The only thing separating them was just the slim space between their noses, their breath hot against each other’s skin. Louis laced his fingers with Harry’s, feeling the rush of electric sparks shoot through both their bodies and explode into the air with a beam of light.

“This is my favourite song,” Harry whispered with a press of his forehead against Louis’, wrapping his arms around the Louis' waist and holding him close. Their breath intermingled, dancing along with their bodies that moved together in synch to the soft beat of the piano.

Louis let his head fall onto Harry’s shoulder, pressing small kisses against the hot flesh of his neck and feeling his eyes grow heavy with the warmth from Harry’s body. He could feel Harry’s fingers massage his back, and the sweet touch of his lips against his temple, whispering the lyrics in his ear with a gentle and reassuring tone.

Won’t you kiss me on that midnight street  
Sweep me off my feet  
Singing ain’t this life so sweet

No words could pass Louis’ lips. His brain was drowned with absolute bliss, feeling the way both he and his love’s heart would beat and pump in the same rhythm, as if they were both feeding the same blood. They rocked slowly back and forth—Louis locking eyes with Harry for the first time. His pupils were filled with an everlasting love and tenderness, open wide with utter endearment and fondness that made Louis’ skin prickle with a warming chill. He brought his hand up to caress Harry’s cheek softly, running his thumb over the red lips. He could feel Harry’s breath quiver in a quiet gasp, and gently, with a loving hand, Louis pulled Harry’s head to his, replacing his thumb with his own lips.

The kiss was gentle and slow, projecting their feelings into something physical that they both felt long before. Louis could taste the chocolate cake that lingered on Harry’s lips and tongue, feeling a wave of immaturity and youthfulness rush toward his heart. He could hear the way Harry was moaning in the back of his throat, and he could feel the way his lips were light and loving against his own. Louis had never felt anything like it before.

He pulled away, pressing one last lingering kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth as the music stopped. He had no words to say—allowing, for once, the silence to do all the talking.

“I would really like it if you’d be my boyfriend, Louis,” Harry whispered in his ear.

And all Louis could manage was a nod of his head and another kiss to Harry’s lips.

\---

Louis didn’t know how he got so lucky. And he certainly didn’t understand how a month had gone by with Harry still by his side, even lovelier and beautiful than before.

He was working on his abstract painting now, finishing up the last few details of his god awful piece. He hated it—it was as simple as that. It looked as if one of his daycare kids painted it. There was no rhyme or reason as to why he decided to paint random stripes and circles across the canvas, nor was there was any sort of ambiguous story behind it. It was just a bunch of squiggles, lines, and circles. And he hated it.

But he had no other inspiration for the project, so if he had to fail, then so be it.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around Louis’ shoulders, and Louis didn’t need to turn around to know whom they belonged to. He snuggled into his chest, feeling Harry’s erratic heartbeat against his shoulder blades, and it instantly made Louis relax, annihilating his anger towards his painting.

“Hi Lou,” Harry whispered in his ear. “Would you like to get some fresh air with me?”

“That would be great, yes.”

Harry chuckled against him, linking his fingers through Louis’ and bringing him up for a quick kiss to his lips. Louis smiled into it, rising to his tip toes to chase Harry when he felt him pull away.

“A little needy?” Harry smirked, biting his lip when he finally stepped away from Louis.

Louis rolled his eyes, tugging on Harry’s hand to get him to start walking towards the front door. He could feel that his face was hot from his comment—it was the truth after all—but he didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of being right.

“Come on, let’s go,” he mumbled, leading the way to Harry’s car which made Harry laugh in return.

“Yes, your majesty.”

The car ride to Harry’s house was quiet—a little too quiet for Louis’ liking. He could tell that Harry had something on his mind simply by the way his knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel and the way his vision was set on the road in front of him with furrowed eyebrows. The quiet background music that Harry made Louis pick out upon entering the car was not helping any, and it took everything in Louis’ power not to reach out and twist the knob until it blasted the melody around them and threatened to damage their eardrums. He would rather have blood dripping from his ears than hear the quiet bumps on the road.

Louis reached his hand out and touched Harry’s shoulder, gently rubbing his thumb along his bicep and taking notice of the way Harry instantly melted underneath his touch. He liked the way he could affect his boyfriend, the way he could easily transform him into mush with a simple trace of his fingertip.

“Are you okay, Harry?” he asked.

Harry laughed, sneaking glances at Louis as he kept his eyes focused on the road with a big grin on his face. “Of course! Why would you think otherwise?”

“You seemed a little…quiet.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders a bit, chuckling a little before laughing louder, though it came across as insecure to Louis. “Just thinking, I guess.”

Louis knew that it had to be a little more than ‘just thinking,’ and he desperately wanted to know what those thoughts consisted of that made Harry become like a statue. It was obvious that they were consuming his mind and body, and it was also obvious that he had intended to keep them a secret—based on the way he simply laughed it off as if it was nothing.

So Louis let him be, for now, and allowed the silence to once again fill the air for only a few seconds more before he finally cracked and turned up the volume. Harry laughed over the noise, which impressed Louis, simply because it was so loud that the seats were rattling and he could still hear his wonderful voice. He smiled nonetheless and drowned himself in the music until they arrived at Harry’s house.

“My parents aren’t home,” Harry said as he opened the front door and lead him through the house. He slipped his shoes off and helped Louis with his before guiding him up the stairs to his bedroom.

“Was this your plan, Harold? Trying to seduce me in your bedroom while your parents were gone?”

Louis was only joking, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he should’ve cleaned up a little before coming to Harry’s.

“Damn it, you got me,” Harry snapped, a smile broad on his face like usual. His voice implied a hint of sarcasm, but his cheeks betrayed him and revealed the possibility of his statement holding a sense of truth. “Movie night?”

“Yes, and you better put on that one I was telling you about earlier.”

“Oh I better?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows with a small twitch of his lip.

“Yes, you better. Or else I’ll tickle you until you do as you’re told.”

He dug his fingers into Harry’s ribcage briefly, laughing when Harry squealed loudly and squirmed away from him. Louis let him get away—just this one time—and instead started to walk around his bedroom. It was the first time being in his home, let alone his room, and he couldn’t help himself from examining the pictures on the desk and the neatly stacked books on his bedside table. He could tell that Harry was a generally neat and tidy person, unlike Louis who would throw everything on the ground and wait until he needed to find it at a later time. It was probably meant to be—Louis can make a mess, and Harry will clean it up. 

He walked along the room, tracing his finger against the wall and finding not even a little dust on his fingertips.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, giggling quietly from his bed.

“You’re very clean.”

“Mr. Clean?”

“Cleaner,” Louis said, blowing a little kiss in his direction. Harry bit his lip and blushed, lowering his chin and peering out from underneath his eyelashes.  
Louis had to look away so he wouldn’t grow red as well. He opened Harry’s closet doors, laughing hysterically as soon as his eyes landed on the neatly organised clothes.

“Harry!” he laughed, “do you organise your clothes by colour?”

Harry pressed his lips together, a beautiful pink on his cheeks. “It’s pretty that way,” he mumbled.

Louis laughed, running his fingers over the jumpers and shirts that were arranged by colour. It started with red on the left side and progressed all the way to his pinks on the right. He couldn’t help the fond smile that overtook his facial features—it was just so…Harry.

“That’s so cute,” he said, walking over to the boy’s bed and jumping up to flop down beside him. Harry laughed as he bounced up and down and Louis smiled deeply, wrapping his arms around his torso and bringing him closer to his chest.

“It’s not cute,” he muttered.

“It is.”

Harry frowned, pouting out his lip and giggling when Louis kissed it away. “I like it.”

“I like you,” Harry whispered.

“Sap.”

“What can I say?”

They stared at each other for a brief moment before Louis leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I like you, too.”

“I know,” Harry said, kissing him again and completely ignoring the movie they started. It went on like that for the majority of the movie, until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

\---

Louis woke up beside Harry the next morning, still cradling him against his chest and inhaling the soft scent of his hair. It was nice—Harry was warm and cuddly. He gently pressed kisses against the back of Harry’s neck, chuckling when he heard the boy groan and turn around to face Louis with bleary eyes.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, stuffing his face into Louis’ chest.

“10:30.”

He groaned again, curling up tighter against Louis’ body. Their legs were entangled and though Louis knew he should be embarrassed and nervous about Harry feeling his body’s natural…attentive stance… he couldn’t be bothered at that moment. It was just nice to hold him in his arms, feeling the warmth spread over his chest and warm his heart. He pressed soft kisses to the curly hair in front of him, twisting the locks in his fingers and watching them spring back into place.

“It’s not that early,” Louis said, laughing. “Come on, Harold. It’s going to be a beautiful day today—I can just feel it.”

Harry didn’t reply for a long time, and Louis wondered if he fell asleep again. He pulled away briefly, only to notice that Harry was staring at the mattress with wide eyes.

“Is the mattress interesting, babe?” Louis teased, though he knew that something was bothering the boy.

Harry smiled a little—showing no dimples. “I suppose,” he sighed.

“It looks very interesting.”

Harry hummed in response, never blinking once or taking his eyes off the spot on the mattress.

“Morning wake up routine?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he said monotonously. He stayed quiet for a long while, just staring at the white sheets and Louis could feel that same tension he felt from last night—the kind where he knew something was on Harry’s mind. He briefly considered ignoring it, but when Harry sighed once again, Louis immediately laid his hand against Harry’s cheek.

“What’s the matter?”

Harry took his eyes off the mattress, looking dazed and confused for a second. “Pardon?”

“What’s the matter, Harry? You seem sad.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sad.”

“Then why are you so quiet?”

“I’m just thinking,” he said, looking straight into Louis’ eyes.

Louis nodded his head, accepting the answer before bringing Harry closer to his chest. “You know you can tell me anything, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replied, letting out an airy breath. He pulled away and smiled shyly before looking down at Louis’ chest. “I’m just…nervous.”

“Nervous?”

Harry nodded his head. “I have an interview with a physiotherapy center today…and I’m just…nervous.

Louis didn’t say anything for a second, letting his words sink in and prosper. An overwhelming rush of emotion fled Louis’ body, feeling all at once the warmth and the chills upon Harry’s accomplishment. A smile creeped onto his face, and he immediately pressed his lips against Harry’s in a rushed motion, not at all caring about his morning breath.

He pulled away, frowning when he saw Harry’s blushed cheeks and sad expression.

“Well…I don’t know if I’m getting the intern,” he whispered. “So like…don’t get all excited, yet.”

Louis shook his head, pressing his lips against Harry’s once more, taking it a little slower this time to show his utter pride. He pulled away once again, smiling softly at the boy.

“I’m so proud of you, Haz.”

Harry silently shook his head, bashfully looking at the mattress again.

“No, none of that,” Louis continued with a whisper, lifting Harry’s head up with his finger. He stared into his eyes with an intense, yet soft gaze, “You should be proud of yourself too, Harry. You’re a hard worker and you’re passionate and you’re caring and sweet. You’re the kindest person I have ever met, and you make each person feel so important. You listen whole heartedly, you pay attention to small details, and you remember everything, even the small things!

“You make people feel so special, Haz, and I know that when you become a physiotherapist, everyone will be begging for you to help them. You probably won’t ever get enough sleep at night because you’ll be in there until the second it opens to the second it closes, helping other people first—that’s what you do, whether you believe it or not. You always put people before yourself. You’re just…a wholesome person, Harry and if for God forbid you don’t get the job, well then that interviewer must be as dumb as a doorknob if they don’t see your dedication.”

Louis hesitated in his speech, reading and examining the boy’s expression as if he were looking at an intricate art display. Harry’s facials were stoic, eyes wide in an unbelievable manner, his face pale white in utter shock, and his hands slightly shaking. The silence continued to grow louder, and Louis wanted to open his mouth to say more, just to fill the empty air.

“I’m just so proud of you,” he whispered, gently laying his hand on the boy’s arm.

Something in that small gesture made Harry crumble. His shoulders collapsed forward suddenly, and his chest heaved in short breaths with little air in between. Tears immediately started to swell in Harry's eyes, turning the green irises a shade lighter with a cloudy film over top. The first tear ran mercilessly down his cheek with such haste, it’s a wonder how he managed enough time to trap it under the pad of his thumb before they could reach his nose. He smiled at Louis, biting his lip and blushing, whispering a quiet ‘thank you’ in his ear.

And if ‘thank you’ could hold any substance behind the meaning, Louis had definitely felt it.

\---

It was three days later that Harry heard back from the company, though Louis hadn’t known that at the time. He was sat at a table by himself, quietly tapping his fork and knife against his plate to fill the empty air around him. It was always quiet at his favourite restaurant down the street from his flat, but today was the worst he had ever experienced. He was the only person in the small building, not even his friends had joined him for dinner that night, claiming that they didn’t want to spend money on food that they already had at home. Though Louis would highly disagree with that statement, he found himself regretting his decision about going alone.

He suddenly felt very lonely and uneasy with the lingering silence that haunted him as he sat in the middle of the restaurant. He tried to focus on the quiet clatter from the kitchen and the classical music that played in the background, but even the little noise still felt thick in density as it surrounded him and swallowed him whole.

He excused himself from the table, making his way to the loo with heavy steps and noisy whistling that were both much too loud for the quiet restaurant. Much to Louis’ surprise, the silence was even worse in the washroom than it was out there, and he nearly dropped to his knees just to pray for something loud to happen.  
With the stream of water flowing at the highest power, Louis washed his hands, feeling the warmth calm his anxiety and wash it away. When he turned it off, the silence returned, but it was soon replaced with the waitress talking to another costumer, and Louis almost had a heart attack from utter joy when he recognised the rough and deep voice that answered her.

He happily skipped back to his table, glancing expectantly at the curly mop of hair and green eyes that were sitting in front of an older man, presumably his father. Louis had never met him—and Harry barely mentioned him.

It was a little odd to see him there, Louis thought. He wasn’t sure if he should introduce himself, or hold off until Harry was absolutely ready for him to meet his father. Their relationship was a complete mystery, but due to the lack of stories Harry told Louis about him, and the many days where Harry was left alone at home, Louis figured they weren’t exactly close. That was why it was strange to see Harry sitting in the flesh with his father—a man Louis knew nothing about.

The boy hadn’t heard, nor noticed Louis who sat only a table away from him and his dad. He kept his eyes glued to the menu, allowing his eyes to scan over his options for dinner—his father doing the same thing.

Too soon for Louis’ liking, the restaurant fell back into the routine silence, and even though there were two other people in the room, along with the staff behind the counter, Louis could feel the tension in the air rise. He went back to clanking his silverware against his plate, keeping his eyes on Harry and secretly hoping that he would glance over at him. When the boy and his father both turned their attention to their phones, Louis almost walked over to their table, wanting to fill the air with some kind of conversation—maybe introduce himself to Harry’s father and let the man know he had done an excellent job of raising his son, and make a deliberate point of exaggerating the good qualities the boy possessed. Louis wanted to praise the father for making Harry, raising him to be good natured and beautiful in every aspect.

He also wanted to see Harry squirm and blush upon hearing the truth.

But, at the same time, Louis was only dressed in his ratty joggers with a beanie covering his head—not a good first impression on his future father-in-law. And so he stayed put at his table and continued to watch Harry silently from a distance.

“Dad?” Harry asked quietly.

It sounded odd for Louis to hear Harry so unsure of himself, especially without a hint of laughter. His voice seemed oddly high for him, and the little smile he offered his father seemed too small and fake for his own good. His father looked up then, hearing his son’s voice waver over the one word he said.

“I uh, heard back from the physiotherapy center yesterday…and I got the internship.”

Louis was dancing in his seat upon hearing Harry’s news. He wanted to run into his arms and twirl him around a few dozen times, pecking his cheeks with little, tiny kisses, maybe pick him up and throw him over his shoulder while he spanked his bum cheekily. 

“That’s nice, Harry. Good job. I’m proud of you,” his father said with very little enthusiasm, returning his gaze back to his phone.

Louis could feel his face harden, hearing the lack of interest in his father’s words. Did he not care that his son, his only son received an internship in his dream job? He couldn’t even act a little excited for him?

Harry nodded his head a fraction of an inch, fiddling with the zipper on his coat. His smile instantly fading into a frown, his bottom lip pulling into his mouth.

“I’m…uh really excited to work there,” he said a little quieter, looking up through his eyelashes to peer at his father who continued to tap on his phone. “They said that I was really smart and—”

The phone rang then, interrupting Harry’s sentence, and, without even a little hesitance from his dad, he eagerly answered the phone with a smile and a loud ‘hello.’

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered to Harry before leaving through the front doors to take his call outside. Harry sat alone in the booth, his shoulders hunched forward and a frown on his face. He sat there frozen, hardly blinking and hardly breathing, it seemed. Louis couldn’t stand the sight—he had never seen Harry without a smile on his face for so long.

His sadness reflected onto Louis, making even the older boy slump lower in his seat as he watched Harry who remained motionless at his table. He could see the very minimal happiness slowly drain from the boy’s face until it was completely blank and tired. It was as if he was an ice sculpture, frozen and slowly melting away.  
Louis hesitantly stood up, ready to make his appearance known to the poor boy, and cheer him up with laughter, but before he could, his father returned with a smile similar to Harry’s that, much too quickly, vanished as he went back to playing on his phone, ignoring his son the whole time.

The silence between the two nearly killed Louis’ ears.

\---

“Come on, Harry! It’ll be fun, I promise!” Louis whined over the phone.

“Erm, I’m actually a little…busy tonight.”

“Busy? With what?”

There was a pause over the line, and Louis briefly wondered if he crossed the line of the much too nosy boyfriend.

“Just…some paperwork and stuff for school. You know, school work and all that.”

“But it’s a Friday night, Harry! Come on, just come over and have a lad’s night with me and the boys. I promise it’ll be fun and you can work on your stuff over the weekend! I can even help you with it, if you want.”

He heard Harry chuckle, giving Louis a gush of pride upon hearing it, and then it slowly died out when he heard him sniffle. “I just really need to get it done today, Louis,” he said a little quieter.

Louis instantly sat up straighter against the couch he was slouching in. His eyebrows furrowed, hearing another little sniffle on Harry’s line.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh yeah! Of course! I just…it’s school. I’m a little stressed…yeah.”

“Well come grab a beer here and de-stress-ify yourself!”

“Yeah!” Niall chimed in from beside Louis, “Harry! Come and drink with us!”

“Hear that, Harry?” Louis asked while simultaneously hushing Niall with his finger. “Everyone wants you here.”

“Erm…okay…I guess. I’ll be over…in a little, yeah,” he laughed.

It was quiet for a moment, Louis just listening to his nose running and quiet coughs from Harry’s side of the line.

“Um, hold on a second,” he rushed out before he stood up abruptly from the couch.

Niall looked at him oddly, asking a question of ‘what’s the matter’ with his eyes, and Louis shrugged his shoulders, walking quickly down the hall to his room.

“Right. What’s up, Harry?” he asked, closing the door softly behind him.

Harry laughed. “Nothing. I’m just…you know…stressed with school and stuff.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you sniffling?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you sniffling?” Louis repeated. There was a drawn silence between the two, and Louis had to pull his phone away to see if Harry might have hung up on him.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just got allergies, Lou. It’s nothing, honest.”

“If you say so,” Louis said, offering one more chance for him to confess anything.

“I do say so,” he said, giggling a little at the end, and yeah—there it was. His laughter and witty remark calmed Louis’ nerves a little. Everything was surely all right and Louis was looking into it too closely.

“Okay. So…is it a no for the lad’s night tonight?”

“I can…come over.”

“No, no. It’s okay if you’re stressed with school and whatnot. We can do it again next Friday, yeah?”

“Okay,” Harry breathed, sniffling once again. Louis grimaced, feeling his heart sink lower in his chest when he realised that he won’t be seeing Harry this evening. The party was supposed to be for him, congratulating him on the new intern at the physiotherapy center, but it looks like it’ll have to be celebrated at another time. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then?” Harry asked.

“Yes, you will. And you better be expecting a text at the crack of dawn.”

“Yeah right, Mr. Don’t Wake Me Up Until Noon.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, babe.”

Harry laughed loudly, making Louis pull the phone away from his ear so it wouldn’t damage his eardrum. He smiled—he always loved it when Harry wasn’t afraid to show his real laughter.

“Bye, Louis.”

“Bye, Harry.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He hung up, staring at his bed for a few seconds before walking back into the family room where Niall, Zayn, and Liam were looking at him expectantly as he plopped down on the couch.

“What’s up?” Liam asked casually, eyeing the way Louis slowly slipped his phone back in the front pocket of his jeans. “Is Harry coming?”

“Nah. He’s busy with school.”

“Damn!” Niall said, “I was really hoping to see the kid proper smashed. I bet he’s a riot when he’s drunk.”

Louis threw a crisp at him, laughing when it hit him in the eye. “You are not getting my boyfriend drunk without my permission.”

“I don’t see why you’d be opposed to it,” Liam said. “If he was drunk then maybe you could have a chance of getting him to model for you…and you know, not be creepy and take random pictures with your phone that he doesn’t even know about.”

“Oh like you’ve never done that with Zayn before, Liam.”

“He has,” Zayn said, smirking at his boyfriend. Liam pouted at him, turning his body away while Zayn pressed little kisses to the back of his neck. “Aw babe, you know it’s true.”

“It’s only because I love you.”

“And I love you, too.”

“I love you more.”

“You know what I love?” Louis interrupted.

“No one cares,” Zayn said.

“Harry!” Niall said at the same time to which Louis chucked a pillow at Niall’s face. The blonde gasped, hurling the pillow back at Louis just as hard along with some more crisps and magazine. “Stop throwin’ things at me face!” he yelled, throwing another crisp at Louis. “I’d like to keep this piece of artwork intact, thank you very much.”

“Can’t maintain what you don’t have,” Louis said, smirking at Niall and quickly running toward Zayn and Liam before Niall can throw anything heavy at him.

“Oi, will you two just shut up already and start the movie?” Liam asked, grabbing the remote from Louis’ hand.

He pressed play on the DVD and shoved Louis away, making him fall to the floor with a loud thud. Niall laughed hard at that, spewing popcorn and crisps out of his mouth, not at all too concerned with personal hygiene.

Louis crawled back to his side of the room, cuddling up with no one but himself against the couch, and instantly wishing that Harry was sitting beside him. He longed for the boy, wanting to feel his legs and arm pressed up against his own, and feel his hands engulf his much smaller hands. There was a sense of loneliness seeping into Louis’ bones, and it instantly made him shudder. He tossed a blanket over his shoulders, twisting it around his body until he was as warm as he could get, but even still, it didn’t diminish his need for wanting Harry beside him.

He sighed, keeping his eyes trained on the movie in front of him, forcing himself momentarily to forget about his boy—but it was hard, very hard.

Every little comment he made about one of the actors reminded him of the time when Harry would playfully punch him in the shoulder and scold him for being so mean. Louis would always laugh in return, and though the memory itself was happy and fun, it only made him sink lower in his seat, feeling a little more sad with each passing second that Harry wasn’t beside him.

He fell asleep through about half the movie, waking up about three hours later at nearly two in the morning to his phone vibrating beside him. It was a text from Harry, and without thinking, Louis blindly opened it, rereading his one sentence over and over, trying to decipher what it meant. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol during the night, but he was still a little confused as to what was going on.

Please come over.

As soon as his mind registered what it was that Harry texted him, Louis immediately dropped his blanket to the floor and rushed out the front door, not bothering to put on a coat or shoes. He didn’t even realise he forgot those two things until the bitter air nipped at his skin, but even then, it was still barely felt. He was far too worried to concentrate on anything other than Harry.

Something was wrong—even from the beginning of the night. He was sniffling, and coughing, and he said it was just his allergies, but damn it, Louis shouldn’t have listened to him! He knew he shouldn’t have believed him, but he did.

He broke all the speed limits driving to Harry’s house, but he never once slowed down. When he finally arrived to his house, he was out of breath and wide awake. He ran up the front steps, ready to slam the door open, but the door was locked, and so he knocked impatiently.

“Louis! You made it!”

The voice on the opposite side of the door was almost unrecognisable to Louis, yet he could easily, and undoubtedly, identify the deep and gorgeous tone. As soon as the door opened, Harry yanked on Louis’ arm with a shrill giggle that made Louis want to cover his ears, but also laugh along with the boy; however, the latter never happened, because a strong, wine aroma immediately drowned his senses and his initial happiness disappeared instantly and instead turned to worry.

The boy tugged on Louis’ hand, heaving him closer to his chest as he clumsily brushed some of Louis’ hair off his forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered. His breath smelled of alcohol, so much so, that it burned Louis’ eyes and made them water. “I love you so much, you know that right?”

He hiccuped loudly then, bringing another round of giggles and high shrieks. It made him slap his leg with one hand while covering his mouth with the other. Louis could feel his heart sink lower, sensing the odd vibe from Harry that made his blood feel restless underneath his skin.

“I love you too,” Louis said a little less enthusiastically. He held Harry’s hand tight, kissing the knuckles as Harry dragged Louis up the stairs—the scent even stronger up here than it was downstairs. “You’re quite giggly,” he added as he smiled warily at the boy who continued to laugh behind his hand and open the door to his room.

“It’s good to laugh, Louis. A second laughing is better than a second crying.”

It was an innocent remark and true nonetheless, but for whatever reason, his words did not sat well in Louis’ stomach. He internally cringed, feeling his food claw its way up his throat as Harry’s giggles continued to bounce off the walls, and surround Louis with the familiar sound. It wasn’t as pleasing it had been in the past for him—hell he would rather have the silence surround him than the incessant and obnoxiously, unrealistic laughter.

And if the noise hadn’t made Louis’ stomach unsettled before, then the scent in Harry’s room was certainly the other main cause of his internal sickness. It smelled of beer, wine, and piss (which Louis sincerely hoped was wrong), and looking around the room, it was clear that something, most definitely, was wrong with Harry.

Empty beer bottles were discarded all over the floor, and clothes were littered over his bed and dressers—no longer hanging neatly in his closet like normal. All sorts of papers and notebooks and pens cramped the carpet floor, and Louis had to step far and wide just to sit down on Harry’s unmade bed that had sheets bunched up in the middle as if they were a mountain.

Louis could feel his chest tighten as he barely registered that Harry was actually talking to him, almost as if in a completely different language with his nonsensical words and utter gibberish, and not to mention the everlasting laughter. He could feel his ears begin to ring, his blood pulsing faster and stronger in his veins, every thought and question was bone chillingly still and unwavering. Nothing made sense. His little baby Haz—innocent sweet baby Harry who lectured him on drugs and alcohol not even a week ago—was drunk. It hadn't made any sense.

Louis turned to him feverishly, running his hands up and down Harry’s arm, feeling his much-too-warm skin underneath his fingertips. “Harry, what happened?” He asked, his eyes searching the bleary, green ones in front of him. They were dull and lifeless, completely opposite of his happy behaviour. They drooped with heavy bags and red rims. Harry shrugged his shoulders, nearly hitting himself in the chin and making him laugh even more. “Why did you drink, babe?” Louis pushed further, feeling the anxiety pool in his stomach.

It’s nothin’ serious,” he slurred. “M’ parents are ou’ of town, you know. They left this af’ernoon.”

The young boy climbed on top of Louis’ lap, leaning his head on his shoulder as his fingers carded through the Louis' hair. His hands were clammy and warm, sticking to Louis’ hair and accidentally tugging on the ends.

“I can see that, love. Why aren’t they home?”

“They’re ‘ways leaving me ‘ome alone,” he said nonchalantly. “But it’s okay, because you’re here now. You won’t leave, right?”

“Of course not, babe.”

Harry giggled louder, poking Louis in the nose with his index finger. “I’ve never drunk before. Have you ever drunk alcoholic beverages?”

“I have. You need to drink lots of water tonight, Harry. Please, will you drink some for me, babe?”

The boy nodded his head, grabbing a half full water bottle from his desk. “I’ve been drinking water a lot, Louis. I learned that from my health class and they said to always drink water in between drinks because you get dehydrated and I don’t wanna be dehydrated. Dehydration isn’t good.”

“No it isn’t,” Louis said, helping Harry get the water in his mouth. The boy is a little clumsy, probably from the alcohol.

“Alcohol makes you feel funny. I feel funny. I feel very…very happy, Louis.” He stopped to hiccup loudly. “I like to feel happy, Louis. But I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

He stopped suddenly to squirm around in Louis’ lap, pressing his forehead against Louis’, making his bleary eyes cross in order to make eye contact with him. If it were any normal day, Louis would have heart eyes at the adorable sight, but given the circumstances, the only thing the older boy can muster is a nervous laugh. The murky green eyes stared into his crystal blue, blinking slowly with honesty and innocence, and he wondered how that was even possible considering the amount of alcohol the boy had consumed.

Harry let out a long sigh, all airy and cute, and even though Louis is nearly gagging from the scent of his breath, he can only hope that his smile came across as being overly affectionate, though he’d rather show his worry for the boy. He knew there was a reason for his drinking.

“I think I know what love feels like, Lou. I feel it when I’m with you.”

He laughed loudly, pulling his face away from Louis while simultaneously turning around again so his back was pressed up against Louis’ chest. The older boy tugged Harry closer to him, gently rubbing his arm up and down, trying to suppress the butterflies in his stomach, but he couldn’t decipher whether they were because Harry loves him or because it was Harry’s scaring him with his odd behaviour.

“I didn’t love him,” Harry continued with a haughty laugh and a sigh. “I felt…weird around him.”

“Who’s he, Harry?”

“My ex-boyfriend, Nick. I used to tell him ‘no’ all the time, just like my mum told me ‘no’ when I tried to steal six cookies out of the cookie jar that one time,” he laughed, letting his eyes scrunch up in amusement. “Or the time my dad told me ‘no’ when I told him I wanted to start dance lessons. But I listened to my parents, Louis. I always listened. How come Nick didn’t listen to me when I told him no?”

“What did he do, Harry? Why did you tell him no?” he asked in one breath.

“I’m tired, Louis. Can you tell me a bedtime story? Can you tell me one about a prince named Louis and another prince named Harry and they fell in love and they liked each other a whole lot?”

“Harry, babe, please, answer me. Why did you tell him ‘no’ all the time?”

He shrugged his shoulders, bringing a mischievous crinkle to his eyes. “I can’t tell you,” he sang.

“But I tell you everything, so it’s only fair that you tell me everything.”

Harry thought it over, tapping his chin clumsily as his tongue stuck out to sit on his lips. “You’re right, Lewis. I think you’re right. So I’ll tell you. And because I love you.” He pecked him once on his lips before his sticky fingers wrapped around the base of Louis’ neck, tugging him down to his mouth so he could whisper loudly in his ear. “He used to make me sit on his lap and kiss him and make me touch—” he stopped midsentence to laugh. “His penis.”

Louis’ blood turned cold, hurriedly turning Harry around to gauge his expression. His eyes were bloodshot, wide and honest. “H-his what?” Louis whispered.

“Shh!” Harry shouted giddily, clasping his sweaty hand over Louis’ mouth. “Don’t say it. I’m not allowed to tell anyone.”

The young boy hesitantly took his hand off Louis’ mouth, waiting for Louis to say something more about his confession. When he saw he wasn’t going to say anything, he reached down underneath his bed to pull out the worn journal that he carried around with him.

“That’s why I write it down in my journal—my Freedom Journal, Louis.”

He shoved the notebook into Louis’ hands, watching him expectantly before lying his head down on Louis’ legs. The older boy’s hands shook as he held the diary, reading the front cover: Freedom Journal. He glanced at Harry whose eyes were wide and encouraging.

“I don’t like it when people read it,” Harry said, “but you’re an exception. Always an exception.”

“You want me to read it?”

The boy nodded his head before hiccupping and sending him into another fit of giggles that bounced around the room, capturing the two boys like prey. “I need you to read it because I’m scared of what I’ve written and I need someone to hold me and tell me it’s okay, okay? It scares me,” he said, gesturing to the journal before closing his eyes and giving Louis complete access to the thing he had always wanted to read.

But he couldn’t read it now. It felt wrong.

He placed the journal beside him, gently moving Harry into the middle of his bed and covering him with the rumpled blankets and sheets. The boy sighed in content, making grabby hands for Louis to lie down next to him.

“Will you spend the night, Lou-Lou?” Harry asked, opening only one eye while his other was closed. “I’m ‘fraid bein’ ‘lone. ‘Nd my parents aren’t home, you know.”

“I will,” Louis said, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead and sliding in beside him. The boy beamed, his dimples popping out brightly, and though usually Louis would fond over them, making sure to dig his finger deep into his cheek to make Harry smile even more, Louis could only smile sadly at the indentations.

It was a shame that they were more visible when he was drunk than when he was sober.

The young boy hummed at Louis’ response, his one eyelid drooping lower with every passing second without fully closing it.

“Close your eye, Haz. I’ll be here in the morning.”

He barely nodded his head, biting his lip before finally allowing his other eye to close completely. Louis listened to his breathing, waiting for sleep to take him over before finally turning his attention to the journal lying limply on the bed beside him.

He could feel the burning sensation radiating off the front cover with Harry’s honest words and thoughts. It made his stomach erupt with an unsettling feeling that ripped through his intestines and made its way up his constricted throat. He slowly held it in his hands, feeling the guilt wrap around his head. He knew sober Harry wouldn’t want Louis to read it. He would want Louis to put the journal down and sleep soundly beside him.

But if this journal was hurting him, and his drunk confession about being scared was actually a true statement, then Louis could live with the guilt. He wanted to be that sense of comfort Harry needed.

He quietly slipped from Harry’s bed, collapsing in a desk chair and silently flipped to a random page in the middle, feeling his heart clench as he began reading journal entry after journal entry. 

 

\---

Louis sat frozen in his chair an hour later, hearing the silence and his heartbeat colliding with each other. His tears were crawling down his cheeks, and falling into his mouth with a salty bitterness. He stared at nothing, just thinking about all the new information about Harry that he had no idea about. He thought about the journal entry that described his recent trip to the hospital to get an x-ray of his spine to the disappointment he felt when his father skipped his graduation ceremony two years ago. He read about his abusive relationship with his ex, how he was so afraid to say 'no' and talk about himself. He read about the time where his ex cheated on him with another girl and how he stuffed his face in a pillow a little over a month ago and cried because he felt like like there was nothing he could do or say to make his father proud.

All this time, his boy was mourning and sad, yet he never knew behind his stupid, adorable smile, and his stupid, adorable laugh. His stupid dimples were always on display—how could have Louis seen behind the happy façade?

But his eyes were always puffy and red—not at all allergies or hay fever as he claimed—and he always smiled even a little too much—and not because he was just a generally, happy guy. He was acting the whole damn time and Louis was a damn fool that had believed him.

How was he blind to the facts? The boy had never told him ‘no,’ he had never made a decision for himself, hell he cried when he was complimented! Something obviously was not right even from the beginning, yet Louis never noticed a thing.

How he kept this information from anyone baffled him. There was so much going on in his life, yet Louis—his loving and caring boyfriend—was not told one damn thing. Nothing. How could Harry think for even one second that Louis—again, his boyfriend—wouldn’t want to listen to him—to be there for him when he was experiencing something so tragic and heartbreaking? Louis was always there for him, waiting for him to fall into his arms and let him support his weight. But he couldn’t do that if Harry never tripped.

He wanted to be that someone—that person whom Harry can call at four in the morning, or that someone who would listen to him all day and all night, giving him genuine advice, or that someone who would treat him right and let him make his own decisions. It was exactly what Harry needed in his life. And Louis was determined to give that to him.

It didn’t matter that those terrible things with his ex had happened all those years ago, it didn’t matter how trivial one of his problems may seem, the circumstances didn’t matter—Louis just wanted to be that person where Harry would feel safe and secure. If that trivial thing or that event that took years and years ago was still giving him trouble in his life now, then Louis wanted to be that person who would help him through it.

He wiped his cheeks with the end of his sleeve, removing any last traces of his tears and sobs before silently crawling back into bed with Harry. He gently took off the boy’s shirt, holding his breath the whole time and closing his eyes in preparation as to what he might see. He was afraid—Harry hadn’t mentioned harming himself in any of his entries, but the thought alone sent another round of tears to his eyes that refused to leave.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, turning over the boy’s arms and running his fingers along the soft and unharmed skin. His eyes trailed down his long torso, stopping briefly on the milky skin along his ribcage and stomach—it was unharmed. He hesitantly unbuttoned Harry’s jeans, shimmying them down his long legs and ran his fingers along the inside of his thighs, feeling the same texture as his arms and stomach—unharmed.

Louis finally let his tears fall freely—he was just so relieved.

He lightly traced his fingers up his pale skin before finally cuddling him into his chest and letting his tears soak the pillow.

He cried himself to sleep with Harry tight in his arms that night. They were silent tears—he didn’t want Harry to hear. 

\---

The next morning, Louis woke up early in an attempt to make a nice breakfast for Harry. His thoughts were clouded from the stories he discovered about the boy, which consequently made him burn the eggs and soak the toast with his tears. So in the end, Louis gave in and made a hearty bowl of cereal with a cup of tea for Harry.

“Morning,” Harry groaned as he walked into the kitchen. His voice was scratchy and pained, and Louis was pretty positive that his must sound similar after sobbing for nearly the whole night and the whole morning.

“Good morning, love,” he whispered, keeping his back toward Harry while he prepared his tea. He knew he looked like a right mess—his hair was all over the place, his cheeks were stained with tears and his eyes were red rimmed—and he couldn’t find it in himself to face Harry with his awful appearance. He was ashamed. Simple as that. 

It bothered him that he looked like that. He shouldn’t be so torn up over this. Their roles should be reversed right now! But the fact that Louis was the one who looked like a mess while Harry was somewhat decent (ignoring his hangover) made him feel even worse—he should have picked up on Harry’s quiet hints of needing help after all the time they’ve spent together. There was no excuse.

He quietly trudged to the table, setting the tea in front of Harry along with the bowl of cereal that contained some of Louis’ salty tears. They fell in accidentally and he meant to make a new bowl for him, but he knew they would all have his tears. He sincerely hoped that Harry wouldn’t taste them.

“How do you feel?” Louis whispered, sitting across from Harry and picking at his nails. It was a nervous habit of his.

Harry sighed. “Just a little tired. I think I drank water last night? So I don’t have a major hangover or anything.”

Louis nodded his head; thankful that he made the boy drink some last night and also happy that Harry was somewhat responsible before he arrived.

“I made you some tea. It’ll help your headache.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, not bothering to lift his head up from his arms. “God, I don’t remember a thing.”

There it was. Louis knew that would happen. He knew Harry would say that at some point or another, and now was the time where Louis would have to explain everything. He didn’t even know how to go about it.

The tears started to prick his eyes again. It wasn’t like they ever left, but somehow these new tears seemed much fresher, much harsher in comparison to the others. He cleared his throat, trying to build up his confidence and gain some self control.

“Harry.”

The tone of his voice said it all, and even Harry, who had a migraine and red eyes, could sense the seriousness of the topic. That was all it took before his bloodshot eyes, crusted with sleep deprivation and a glassy film, looked up to meet Louis'. They were wide open, alert, and listening. The very sight of it made Louis bite his lip in order to keep his tears at bay because even though he had gazed into those eyes for weeks on end and memorised the hints of gold and traces of blue within the irises, he still had no idea what the boy could be hiding behind them.

Now, his eyes were red and murky—something Louis had seen very few times before, but the amount of times he’s seen it doesn’t justify as to why he hadn’t noticed it before. He wanted to puncture his own eyes out, because at least then he’d have an excuse as to why he was blind to it all the other times.

“Louis,” Harry whispered, reaching out to touch his arm, “What’s the matter?” he stuttered. “What’ve I done? Oh god—I’m so sorry. I did something stupid last night, didn’t I?”

He shook his head, softly bringing Harry’s hand up to his lips and placing a kiss against his knuckles. “No, no, love. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then…what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Louis knew that Harry could see the tears well up in his eyes, could see the way he was struggling for words as if they were buried under a rock in his throat, but he couldn’t manage to utter a single word. Maybe that was why Harry kept things a secret sometimes. They were heavy and demanding, and they required so much strength—and how had Harry even had the strength and will to carry such a thing on his shoulders for so long?

His fingers curled around the notebook in his hands, feeling the burning sensation of the front cover on his palms as if the words within were aflame and they were shooting upward with every intention of burning Louis. He slid it on the tabletop, gauging Harry’s expression as his eyes landed on the journal. His face paled significantly, red eyes growing wider and frantic, transfixed to the thing before him as if his body was a mere frozen sculpture of a boy who couldn’t perceive a thing.

And then his face suddenly collapsed, his eyebrows tugged together at once and his lip tugged into his mouth. He hesitantly peeled his eyes away from the journal, slowly bringing his sacred diary into his chest as his eyes and expressions spoke loudly. It had screamed a question of why—why had Louis betrayed him? Why had he invaded his privacy? Why had he went against Harry?

And to make matters worse, there was no smile to be seen on his face—no trace of even the simplest of grins. Was it so bad that Louis wished to see his smile once more?

“Last night,” he started slowly, clearing himself of the inevitable lump that gathered in his throat. “You gave me permission to read some of it…and you told me some things.”

He can see the way Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, casting his eyes downward with a simple lowered head in shame. His fingers curled around the edge of the journal tighter, grasping onto it as if it would slip from his hands again.

“I read all of it,” Louis whispered.

Harry’s breathing faltered momentarily, his entire body unmoving and frozen as he sat across from Louis. He stared at the table, unblinking and breathing nonexistent. Then, his bottom lip was brought under his teeth and his forehead scrunched together and his shoulders hunched forward. His head dropped to his lap, his face grew redder, and his breathing was quivery.

“I know you didn’t want me reading it, but you said last night that you were afraid, and you were scaring me, Harry. You drank so much and then you confessed to your ex-boyfriend touching you and you told me you were afraid. I just—I needed to make sure you were okay, and—”

He broke off midsentence, gently lying his hand upon Harry’s arm to convey his feelings of worry and comfort, but Harry immediately flinched from his touch. He drew his arm away quickly, turning his body away from Louis with the journal still clutched to his chest.

It was like a punch thrown at Louis—he felt wounded and hollow, and he had to bite his lip to hold back a whimper. But it didn’t stop his tears. They trailed down his cheeks and slid off his chin, falling freely onto the tabletop. 

The tears moved more than Harry though—he remained motionless across the table.

Louis’ heart was hurting him, beating so hard against his chest that it hadn’t made sense to him as to why his pulse was so incredibly cold in his veins. He needed Harry to say something—anything.

“Harry,” he whispered, choking on the second syllable. He didn’t know what to say. The boy wouldn’t look up at him, nor respond. “Everything—everything will be alright, yeah? We just need to talk and—”

“Why?” Harry whispered to the table.

Louis could only stare at his shaky fingers. “Why?” he asked, waiting for a response he never got. He shook his head, sinking lower in his seat. “We just need to talk. I know you don’t want to Harry, but…those things you wrote about…they’re serious and I don’t want you to be scared anymore.”

There was a deathly silence between them. Louis bounced his leg up and down nervously, listening to the sound of his heel hitting the ground. His heart was beating erratically and he just wanted to touch Harry—maybe to comfort both himself and the boy.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore either,” Harry said quietly.

\---

They walked to the pond where Louis had thrown rocks at the geese all that time ago. He knew it was a calming atmosphere for Harry and that was the only thing on his mind. He sat on the log beside him, holding the journal in his lap and watching the water crash against the shore. Harry sat tense and uncomfortable next to him, toying with his fingers that sat on his legs.

Louis hesitantly opened the journal up to the first page, watching Harry sink lower in his seat, avoiding his gaze.

“What’s this?” Louis asked lightly, flipping to a page with his name written in the middle, surrounded by little, pink hearts and a love sick poem underneath. He was hoping to lighten the heavy mood. “I think someone might have a little bit of a crush.”

Harry looked up then, his cheeks turning pink and a very hint of a smile graced his lips. “Don’t read that.”

“Oi! Did you write this poem about me?”

“Louis,” Harry groaned, trying to grab the poem out of Louis’ hands. But Louis didn’t give it to him, instead keeping it out of his reach and reading the poem obnoxiously loud to the forest while Harry continued to squirm for the journal. He was giggling, but they weren’t remotely close to sounding genuinely happy.

“Louis! Give it back!” he shouted.

“I’m impressed with your poetry skills, Rodrigo.”

Harry looked at his shoes, his cheeks still bright red and a small smile on his face. “You weren’t supposed to read that,” he grimaced.

“But I love it,” Louis said, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “I love it a lot. And I love you much more than that and that’s why I want to talk about these journal entries with you.”

Harry kicked at the dirt, looking out a soft sigh. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Harry,” Louis whispered, trailing his hand against his arm. “Yes or no—do you want to talk about it?”

“Sure,” he said quietly, almost immediately.

“Take your time with your decision, love. There’s no rush. If you truly don’t want to talk about it, then I’m not going to force you. I won’t be mad at you either. This is completely up to you.”

Harry stayed quiet, his feet still kicking at the dirt on the ground. “Yes.”

“You can say no if you want,” Louis whispered. “I’ll respect your decision.”

He nodded his head. “I think I need to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Louis said, relieved that he was willing to talk about it. He opened to the first page, asking once more if Harry was okay with it, and he nodded his head, seemingly a little frustrated that Louis kept asking him.

Louis reread the entries in a whisper the whole time, too afraid of reading it any louder in fear that Harry would shatter under the noise. They started at the beginning, allowing time in between each entry for Harry to recollect himself, and let out any other confessions on his chest, but he never said a word. He was shaking the whole time, and Louis wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, bringing him close to his chest.

“Would you rather me ask questions instead of reading?” Louis asked, pausing in the middle of one. Harry blushed, barely nodding his head. “Okay,” he whispered, kissing his cheek lightly. “What’s your relationship like with your parents? They seem to be gone a lot. Are you close to them?”

Harry stayed quiet for a long time, and Louis almost opened his mouth again to ask a different question, but finally, after nearly a minute of silence, he began to talk.

“They go away on business trips a lot. I love them and they love me. It’s just…my dad…we’re not that close. He’s a very straight forward kind of guy,” Harry said, “he just says what he needs to say, and that’s that.” Louis watched him as he shrugged his shoulders, looking up at the sky to hide his tears. “And I think I’m just the type who likes to hear something with a little more meat on the bones—something a little more extensive.”

It was quiet for a while, and Louis shifted uncomfortably next to Harry. He wanted to open his mouth to say something, but he was afraid that Harry would shut down if he disturbed the silence.

“But at the same time,” he finally said. “he’s very vocal. He makes sure to let me know when I do something wrong. And he points out every little mistake that I’ve made. And he definitely makes tells me when my decision was bad. I’m just wrong all the time. It’s times like those when I wish he would be blunt with me.”  
Harry let the first tear slip out, and he quickly whisked it away with his finger before it reached his cheek. “Sorry,” he giggled quietly, gazing at the ground.

“Why are you sorry, love?”

Harry shook his head, obviously trying to fight the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. “For crying. I’m just…” he let out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Louis immediately turned Harry to face him, waiting until his red rimmed eyes focused on his. “I never want you to be sorry for crying, Harry,” he said sternly but quietly. “A good cry is healthy, and it’s not good to keep it bottled up for so long. Don’t ever be sorry for your emotions. They’re beautiful. You should never be ashamed of it.”

Harry nodded his head, quietly whispering out another ‘sorry’ before shaking his head and frowning.

“Don’t be sorry,” Louis whispered back, gently rubbing his arm. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Harry shrugged, sniffling a little and trying to blink the fresh round of tears back. As soon as one escaped his eye, Louis pinned his hands to his side, wanting the tear to fall down his face, and show Harry that it was okay to show his emotions. The boy bit his lip, his cheeks colouring with embarrassment.

“Don’t brush it away,” he whispered, releasing his hands. “You wanna know a secret about tears?”

Harry barely nodded his head, his eyes trained on his feet.

“They like to be the centre of attention, did you know that?” Harry grimaced and barely shook his head. “It’s true. They’ve told me personally.”

“Oh,” Harry said quietly, letting out one humourless laugh before growing quiet again.

‘C’mere,” Louis whispered, wrapping his arms around Harry’s back and tangling his hands in his hair. “Shh, let it out. It’s okay.”

He could feel Harry’s shuddered breaths against his chest, and his hot tears against his skin. It was weird to see him like that—so upset and serious, but Louis cradled him in his arms and whispered soft, reassuring words into his ear until he calmed down.

“My dad said crying is for girls—that if a guy cries it shows weakness,” he mumbled against Louis’ chest. Louis shook his head, pulling Harry in an even tighter embrace and kissing the top of his head.

“Your father is wrong,” he said, feeling his anger rising at the ridiculous statement. “Don’t listen to that nonsense, Harry. That’s wrong and such an idiotic thing to say. Boys cry, love. It’s natural. It isn’t just a girly thing.”

Harry nodded his head once, pulling away slowly and wiping at his face once more. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

“Of course, babe. What do you want to talk about?”

He shrugged his shoulders, fumbling with his eyes as if to stop his tears from falling. Louis wished he would stop that.

“How about Nick, Harry?” Louis offered, watching the way Harry reacted. He bit his lip, fiddling with the rings on his fingers and running a nervous hand through his hair. “He made you…?” Louis pushed a little further.

Harry blushed, looking down at his feet. “Yes,” he whispered. “He made me touch him and he touched me in return.”

“And you said no.”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever…do it?”

“No.”

“Did you ever do anything else besides that?”

“No.”

Louis let out a sigh of relief. “But he still touched you.”

“Yes.”

“He sounds very…possessive of you.”

Harry nodded his head, sniffling a little into his sleeve. “He was. I could only really talk to him.”

Louis nodded his head, remembering the entry he read about lending the girl a pencil. It was ridiculous.

He cleared his throat, bringing Harry a little closer to his chest. He knew Harry wouldn’t like the next thing he was going to say.

“Harry…these things that he did…they sound like abuse,” Louis whispered.

Harry shook his head fast, biting his lip as his eyes came in contact with Louis’ for the first time since they arrived at the pond. “No,” he whispered. “He never hit me! He—”

“Abuse doesn’t have to be physical. It can be emotional…vocal.”

Harry shook his head again, his eyes open wide. “It was my fault, really. I could have been firmer or I could have—”

“But you still didn’t like what he was doing, did you? And you told him no, so he should have listened.” Harry bit his lip, more tears filling his eyes before he pressed his face against Louis’ shoulder. “And he made you feel inferior and stupid all the time. He threatened to kill himself when you wanted to break up with him. That’s not right in a relationship, Harry.”

“It was my fault,” he mumbled against Louis’ shirt, his words getting caught in his throat. “It was all my fault.”

“Nothing was your fault, babe,” Louis quietly shushed him, feeling his heart break as he heard Harry’s words. “Nothing, yeah?”

“But he said he loved me.”

“If he loved you, then he wouldn’t have done that. Abuse is abuse, Harry. Making excuses doesn’t lessen the severity of it.”

And although the statement was harsh, it was true—and it only made Harry cry into Louis’ shoulder more, which is something that was both beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.

They spent the rest of the morning together, sitting in silence with the occasional hiccups and a few more rounds of sobbing. Louis rubbed his back the whole time, allowing for the young boy to make a mess of his white t-shirt until it was drenched with his truthful and acidic tears. He could feel the weight of them on his shoulders, could feel the way they burned his skin, and ripped at his heart. It made him wonder how Harry was strong enough to even hold them behind his eyes for so long.

He had no words to describe his feelings—he wanted to scream at everyone that caused his boy to break down like this. He wanted to punch and kick at rocks and dirt, and rip out every single piece of paper from Harry’s ‘Freedom Journal,’ as if it would take away Harry’s memories. He wanted to comfort his boy, take away all his pain and rip them to shreds.

But most importantly, he wanted to hurt and yell at himself—for being so blind and inconsiderate all that time.

After some time, Harry fell asleep against Louis’ shoulder. His cheeks were red and wet from the amount of tears he cried and Louis decided that he hated that look. He drove him back home, carrying him up to his room and tucking him in with a lingering kiss to his forehead.

He sat in his car for a long time, just screaming and yelling, and cursing at no one but himself for being so stupid. He hit his forehead against the steering wheel several times, muttering to himself about his idiotic obliviousness, and he clawed at his ears, pulled at his hair, and scratched at his face, just to make him feel but a little of what Harry felt.

He couldn’t help the tears that ran down his cheeks as he finally started his car. The engine roared to life, and he flinched at the noise, curling in on himself in order to hide from it.

Through blurry eyes, he glanced once more at the window where he knew Harry was asleep with tear stained cheeks and disheveled hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, repeating it to himself the whole way home with his salty tears flowing into his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

When he arrived back at his flat, his sorrow had subsided and his anger returned. He slammed the door and his keys on the table as soon as he walked in and the noise made Niall jump on the couch. The Irish lad was about to open his mouth to yell at him, but as soon as he saw Louis’ red face and red eyes, he immediately closed it and rushed to his side.

Louis shook his head, and without a word, sidestepped around him to run to his room. He slammed the door closed, reaching for the picture he painted of Harry the first day he met him back at the library. He stared at the emerald eyes, feeling the anger pulse through his veins. Those green eyes haunt him now—they shined bright and sparkled, but they were no longer as beautiful as he had first seen them. They were transparent, offering the darkness that consumed Harry’s thoughts and mind, and now Louis can see what had been missing when he first painted it. He can see all the little mistakes he made on all his paintings—the inner sorrow that had been masked with a laugh.

He hastily ripped up the artwork, ripping it until it’s all just a bunch of tiny pieces of emerald green and chestnut brown. They scattered the floor, flying into the air when Louis rushed past with a gush of wind in order to sit down at his easel once again.

His tears blurred his vision, but he didn’t need to see the harsh lines of red he painted across the span of the canvas, flicking the bristles back so black paint would splash and hit the white background with such a force that made his grey paint topple over and add to the canvas. He hastily spread it around with his fingers, not caring that he was leaving handprints and not caring that the red, black, and grey paints were mixing to combine an awful colour.  
He was just so angry.  
How had he not seen this before?  
The wet paint oozed down the canvas, dripping onto the easel and floor, but Louis didn’t care. He sat back, blinking away his angry tears before finally looking at his ugly canvas. It was completely covered in an ugly array of red, black, white, and grey. He saw his hand and fingerprints, and in some spots there were harsh lines and dark circles. He pushed it away, feeling himself calm down with tears threatening to spill from behind his eyes once again.

He pulled out his notebook, dedicated to Harry with quick sketches and paintings of the boy. He stared at them, sitting in absolute silence, and feeling the pleasant solitude engulf him in a hug. The boy was wearing a smile. It was fake—Louis could see that now—it was simply a mask that had been put on to make the boy’s troubles fade, if for only a moment, and return consequently when he was alone with his thoughts and feelings. His smile was the thing that had once given Louis light, even comparing the boy to a light switch before, but now Louis was questioning whether Harry was truly a light that guided him through the dark, or a light that blinded him too much to see the truth. The dimples and charm that his smile radiated with was what had, ultimately, blinded Louis.  
And for that, he blamed himself for staring into the sun for too long.

He threw the notebook on the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and digging his eyes into the palm of his hands. He could hear Niall and Liam banging on the walls—Niall yelling at Louis to open the door, and Liam quietly hushing Niall while simultaneously trying to persuade Louis to talk to them. He ignored them, falling onto his bed, and stuffing his face into the pillow to silence his tears.

\---

The next day, they sat beside the pond in silence, just watching the sun glisten on the surface, listening to the small crash of the water against the shore. Harry stared out into the pond. The harsh rays were hitting his eyes, making the irises seem translucent and clear, but the rest of his skin dark from the shadows. He rarely blinked as he stared off in the distance, and when he did, it was leisurely and slow, just like his breathing.

It was in that moment that Louis realised just how much Harry lived behind his perfect façade. The boy’s face was serene, completely natural and unperturbed, and if it wasn’t for the knowledge about his history, Louis would have guessed that the boy just felt one with nature, like his silence was a mutual agreement between himself and his surroundings.

But Louis knew better, and he knew that with silence came heavy thinking. He knew that right now, Harry’s thoughts were wrapping itself tight around his head, like a rope tied around an anchor that tugged him down and down, until he hit the rocky bottom and would eventually drown him. Louis didn’t want to see him struggle for air—he already witnessed that moment for only a brief time just yesterday, and the tears that rolled down Harry’s cheeks had broken his heart. He didn’t want that to happen again.

He turned to face Harry, observing how the boy hadn’t even flinched when Louis touched his arm gently. Louis could practically see his racing thoughts, the ones that caused him distress and a sense of worthlessness, and in that second, Louis decided that he would make it his personal mission to help Harry love himself as he should. There will be no more of these blank stares, the forced smiles, the empty compliments, and the polite opinions. Louis wanted Harry to be himself, to live, and most importantly, to love who he was as a person.

And the first thing Louis started with was Harry’s confidence.

He whispered Harry’s name, rubbing his arm affectionately to gently get him out of his quiet funk. The boy startled slightly, before turning toward Louis with a small smile on his face—the sight of it made Louis frown.

“Tell me about yourself, Harry,” he whispered, his eyes focused solely on Harry’s.

The younger boy laughed slightly, raising his eyebrows in question. “What do you mean? You already know me.”

Louis almost wanted to snort at his response, seeing that there was still so much left unknown. Instead, he took his phone from his pocket, setting up a timer for ten minutes. He could feel Harry watch him with an intense and curious stare.

“I mean, I want you to talk about yourself, and only yourself, for ten minutes.”

He knew Harry hated talking about himself, knew that it was probably the hardest thing in the world for the boy. He knew it wasn’t necessarily because he was ashamed of his character, or ashamed of himself, for that matter, but more so of the acceptance of others.

Louis had only ever heard Harry talk about himself when it involved the daycare, and even still it was focused more on the children. He heard him talk briefly about his internship, but it was short lived when his father dismissed it with a wave of his hand, and ultimately killed his excitement and pride with a simple “that’s nice.

The boy always steered the conversation away from himself when anything, even remotely close, involved him in any kind of way, like he was too afraid someone would dismiss him like his father did. He was scared to be seen as something lowly and useless, scared to be seen as his true self to others.  
Louis could see the hesitation on Harry’s face—the way his bottom jaw opened and closed as if he was going to speak.

“Louis, I—”

“No. You’re not getting out of this,” Louis said sternly, already feeling bad when he saw Harry slump lower on the log and his eyes move to the ground. He gingerly picked Harry’s chin up with his forefinger, waiting until his green eyes settled on his blue again before he smiled carefully. “I want to know you. It’s only me. Don’t be scared.”

Harry swallowed before slowly nodding his head and fixing his eyes at the ground again while Louis started the timer.

“I’m Harry…” he whispered, looking up at Louis in question, his eyebrows pinched in the middle.

Louis smiled in encouragement, leaning in to press a short kiss against his forehead. “Don’t be scared, love.”

The boy nodded his head again, clearing his throat and hesitantly talking about himself.

“I, erm, like the colour blue…and…I don’t know,” he said sheepishly, keeping his eyes trained on his feet, his face turning pink. “Louis, please.”

Louis didn’t say anything, simply nudging at his leg to make him talk. He felt bad upon hearing Harry’s shaky breath and angry sigh, but he knew this was good for him.

“Louis, this is embarrassing and I—”

The older boy stopped the timer, hushing him with a quick kiss and rubbing his arm. “I’m not letting you out of it, Haz. I’ll start the timer when you’re ready.”

Harry huffed, burying his head in his hands and turning his body away from Louis. It tugged at Louis’ heart, feeling the sense of rejection, but he stayed firm. He gently rubbed his back.

“It won’t be that bad, I promise.”

 

\---

It was hard in the beginning for him—it was evident with the way he would stumble over his words and blush when he shared his favourite things. There were several times when Harry tried to divert the conversation away from himself, sneakily trying to ask Louis a question in return, but Louis simply shook his head, refusing to answer the question, and Harry blushed, once again, and lowered his gaze to the ground.

Near the eight minute mark, Harry finally began to relax into the atmosphere, allowing himself to freely talk about his achievements and goals without any hesitation. His pale skin seemed healthier and younger, and his eyes were bright. It was the first time where his smile exploded with genuine happiness. It was as if there was a new person sitting beside Louis—someone bright and full of life, like a flower blooming for the first time after a long winter.

That’s what he was, Louis decided—a flower. His winter was harsh and cold, and the soil was frozen and hard, but with the help of the sun, he grew through the dirt and grown through the cold, and now, here he was, blossoming into something new. His petals opened and his posture was upright and proud. He offered a beautiful variety of vibrant colors and scents, and the bees and the butterflies could never fly past him without giving him a proper kiss. He was a delicate thing, yet so strong.

He was absolutely breathtaking.

And Louis was glad that he was able to help him bloom into something magnificent.

\---

He did those little interviews every Monday for the next few weeks to come. They would go to the pond and sit beside it for awhile and then when the silence lingered in the air, Louis would start the timer. Over time, Harry started to open up completely, sometimes talking more than the ten minutes, too wrapped up in his own story to even notice the timer had gone off. It made Louis proud—he learned so much about Harry during those ten minutes, and it was just so refreshing to hear him speak so highly about himself.

When it wasn’t Monday, Louis would do minor tricks to get Harry to make his own decisions and offer his opinions. It was easy—he’d make Harry pick a song on his iPod, blaming the traffic as a reason why he couldn’t take his eyes off the road. He’d make Harry choose the movie they would go see or make him choose what they wanted to eat for dinner. And slowly, with time, Harry didn’t need to prompted for his opinion or decision. He started sharing his own thoughts, and Louis couldn’t be any happier. It was nice to see him take charge every once in awhile, making his own decisions because it was what he wanted to do.

The hardest challenge, however, proved to be disagreeing. It definitely took the most work. Louis had to make Harry repeat the word ‘no’ so many times that it started to sound like another language, and even though he knew Harry felt silly saying it repeatedly, he still pushed him—it was an important life lesson. Harry needed to learn how to say it. What was he supposed to do when he was being forced into something he had no desire in doing?

But when he finally learned how to say it, Louis put it to use, making up strange scenarios and odd stories on random days to see how strong Harry would be. He would give in the first few times, but after nearly a week of Louis’ begging, Harry finally put his foot down, and Louis was just so damn proud of him.

The boy had changed in the best way possible, and yeah—of course he still had those quiet and shy moments, and yeah, he still laughed maybe a little too much—but Louis didn’t want to completely strip him of himself. He wanted to preserve him as he was before, just with a little more confidence and a little more sense of self worth. It was what he deserved, after all.

Louis couldn’t be any more proud of his boy.

\---

Epilogue

It was the night before Louis’ deadline for his abstract painting and he was nearly pulling his hair out in frustration when he looked back at his odd squiggly lines and shapes from months ago. He knew he should have spent more time on his project, and he knew he should have put more effort into it, and even though he had such a long time to make it better, he had honestly forgotten about the project all together—especially over the past two weeks.

“Don’t pull your hair out, love,” Harry whispered in his ear, gently coaxing his fingers away from his head. “I’m the only one that can do that,” he smirked.

Louis rolled his eyes, shoving Harry in the shoulder before turning back to his disastrous painting. “What am I going to do, Harry? I can’t turn this in! It’s complete shit!”

Harry huffed out a sigh, looking around the room for an answer before his eyes settled on a canvas that was stuffed in the corner of the room. He walked over and grabbed it, setting in front of Louis. “This seems abstract.”

Louis stared at it, confused as to when he painted it. It was atrocious. There was red paint smeared across the canvas with handprints and ugly colours mixing together. He wondered briefly if Niall had painted it before it dawned on him. He painted that when he was upset over Harry’s journal.

He smiled, grabbing more paints off his shelf and shoving a brush in Harry’s hand. “Help me. Just paint. I don’t care what.” Harry grinned, already dipping his brush into bright pink and drawing a circle. “No penises!” Louis shouted.

Harry sighed, flicking paint onto Louis’ cheek and laughing when Louis painted a stripe on his nose. “Nudity is pretty abstract, I think.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Louis said, delicately dragging more paint across the canvas, adding more layers and designs to his painting.

“I think I’m right, but I don’t care about your silly opinion anyway. I don’t know if you know this about me, Louis, but I was supposed to be the next Salvador Dali. I’m as abstract as they come. And if I think there should be some nudity on this painting, then damn it, there should be some nudity on this painting!”

“Alright, calm down, Dali.”

“Ms. Moffet would love my penis drawing,” he mumbled.

“Well maybe she’ll get one soon.”

Harry smiled broadly, setting his brush down beside him and looking at Louis hopefully. “You mean I can paint a penis on one of your paintings?”

“Ha! No. I’m saying that…you know… maybe one day I can paint you naked,” Louis smirked, letting his eyes trail down Harry’s body and licking his lips when his eyes stopped at Harry’s crotch.

Harry inhaled deeply, shifting under Louis’ lustful gaze until his blue eyes returned back to his face. Louis smirked, his smile growing larger when he noticed the lovely shade of pink that was dusting over Harry’s cheeks. It looked adorable on him, making Louis want to reach out and pinch his cheeks and listen to the way Harry would whine and complain that he wasn’t a baby anymore, but Louis secretly knew that he liked it—he would never smack his hand away or lean away from his touch.

“Is somebody blushing over the thought of being naked while I paint them in the nude?”

Harry tugged on the hem of his shirt, smiling a little though his cheeks grew redder. “No.”

“Really?” Louis asked, leaning in closer to his face, ultimately making Harry laugh and push him away. “Because it certainly looks like it.”

“Shut up. You’re just using that as an excuse to get me out of my clothes.”

Louis gasped, waiting for Harry to laugh. “That is not true! Nudity is art! I am not some kind of sick old man that likes to look at young boys’ dicks.”

“I beg to differ,” Harry said, biting his lip as he giggled.

“Well…maybe I like to look at your dick. It is quite special.”

Harry laughed, slapping his knee and bending down to grab some paper off the ground. He began cutting some stars in the blue sheets and eyeing Louis at the same time. “Well, if you’re going to paint me in the nude then I expect a full out Titanic scene where I’m laying on a couch with my hand draped delicately over my head. And you best be excited to see me like that.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Perv,” Harry said, pressing a light kiss to Louis’ cheek. Louis smiled immediately, feeling his cheeks begin to grow warmer and his chest to grow tighter with love. He can’t control the fond look that he always seemed to have on his face when he looked at Harry. The boy was adorable and cute.

“Hey! Excuse you, Harry!” He said, startling the boy next to him who was pressing one of his blue stars to the abstract painting. “What are you doing with that paper? This isn’t a collage!”

“But Louis!” Harry whines, “you need abstraction! Come on, get creative!”

Louis simply laughed before giving in and digging up glitter and feathers from deep within his closet. If he was going to fail this art project, then he was going to fail with dignity.

They giggled while gluing everything to the canvas, laughing at the way it looked absurd with the layers of paint lying underneath glittery feathers, and though it wasn’t something Louis would typically enjoy painting, he had to admit that it didn’t turn out too terrible.

There was still something missing, though Louis couldn’t determine what it could possibly be this time, but for the moment he let it be.

“I told you I’m abstact,” Harry said, leaning in close to whisper in Louis’ ear.

“Yes, you are, and I love that about you,” Louis replied, snuggling in closer to Harry’s chest. He could feel the familiar rumble when Harry responded.

“I love you, too.”

\---

It hadn’t hit him what was missing until seconds before turning in his art project the next morning, and when he discovered the missing part, he hastily added it to his final project.

He smiled to himself, observing his final piece of artwork, and for once, feeling a small sense of satisfaction while looking at the finished product. His thoughts wandered to Harry—the boy that Louis decided to credit with his final missing piece.

Louis softly kissed the canvas before turning it in, and sitting at his usual chair in Ms. Moffet’s class. He watched her expression as her eyes danced over the painting, smiling with her eyebrows, before she finally turned around and nodded once with a big grin on her face.

Louis could only smile and thank Harry.

He began to wonder if Harry was actually the artist in the relationship—because his type of art was the one to inspire Louis with his painting. His type of art consisted of hiding—hiding his secrets, hiding his thoughts, hiding himself. He was hidden. It was an art so specified and articulate that only made his quirky behavior and ambiguous words seem that much more profound to Louis. And yet, at the same time, Harry was like an artwork himself, with bright hues and small shapes that made up a bigger picture—like Picasso’s cubism or Lang’s origami. In one glance, the picture was there, perfect in appearance and beautiful to the eyes, but only with a second look, did Louis see the way His tough skin could be peeled back, like a paper mache project, until the only thing left was His bones, the true and raw building blocks of His character.

He was truly an indescribable human, yet he deserved such a better description.

That was the reason why, over the layers of paint, paper, and feathers, that Louis decided last minute to paint the phrase ‘No Words’ across the canvas. There were simply no words to describe Harry.

He was the canvas, allowing everyone to touch him with their own paint and leave their own permanent marks on his skin. He was their final project that didn’t turn out as well as they had planned. He was the colours that didn’t seem to mix correctly and he was the sharp lines that mixed with the curves, leaving an odd picture in the midst. He was a mess.

But Louis was the white paint that washed over all his horrible colours, recreating him so that he was once again a blank slate. He took away the harsh lines and ugly hues that were left by his peers. He painted over the odd mess of shapes and squiggles, until finally Harry was left with a completely new canvas yet again. It was his decision as to how he wished to paint his empty paper.

And Louis, though seemingly unaware, could feel his own canvas beginning to change into his own beautiful painting. It changed directions and colours, fixed so that things were brighter—more coherent—and it was all thanks to the boy who was once a colourful mess.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed it! Don't be afraid to leave me comments or kudos!! They make my entire day :)


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